Thicker Than Water
by keladryevangelinerhysenn
Summary: I baked cookies while my sister was hanging out of the side of a helicopter with a machine gun in hand and while my brother launched missiles at me from Palestine. I watched as my father slowly destroyed my family as well as our lives.
1. Introduction

It has been far too long since I have been mentioned. Perhaps I am glad of it, for my name is only referred to in tragedy. The only thoughts that come to mind when I am mentioned are of a girl who died too soon , merely a child that had so much promise and compassion, only to be snatched away by the insatiability of evil. No one recalls the truly good things about me when the sound of my name passes over their lips. My unfortunate death overshadows my magnificent baking skills, my promise in Mossad, my love for everyone who came into my life…My death even hides the bad things, which is not an advantage in my eyes. Every detail, good and bad, must be spoken of, I cannot allow otherwise. Despite the brutality of my life at times, I have loved and I have been loved. Loved enough to be content with the precious moments I had, and despite what I have gone through, I am not bitter, I seek no revenge, I regret nothing. Mine is not a story to remember as unfortunate. I will tell the story of my childhood and sibling's childhood in the best way I can in the hope that the next time you speak of me, the name Tali will have an entirely different meaning. It's about time. Shalom, Salaam, Peace.


	2. Tali Had Compassion

A\N: Sooo, this story pretty much consists of anecdotes narrated by Tali David about her family and her life as she knew it. I've been playing with the character of Tali for quite some time based on the few details we were given about her. There are a lot of Tali(s) swimming around in my head right now and this one seems promising, mind you she's quite tortured and anguished and hardly gives an unbiased opinion… I promised myself I would post my stories this summer and not let them rot under my bed!

Anywho, here are the things you MUST KNOW:

1.) These anecdotes are NOT in order (nor do they really need to be, you can probably figure it out for yourself)

2.) The circumstances of some events may never be entirely specified. (I have to leave _some_ things open to interpretation!)

3.) Lets just say Tali was born around 1984ish, Ziva is 4 years older than her, Ari is 4 years older than Ziva.

4.) I am open to requests. If you would like Tali to explain any of the hints we've gotten from the show about the David's early life, just leave me a comment Thanks, now read!

My brother and I faded away together. It was a bittersweet process, we were two world weary souls waiting for permission to move on, both of us were deteriorating in similar circumstances. Ari's visits had decreased since my mother died, and he had medical school to worry about. Even with that our father still sent him on missions that I never dared ask them about. Ziva was in the IDF at that time, and around even less than he was, she couldn't have visited if she wanted to. I found that being an only child did not suit me well, but that point I had grown accustomed to my isolation. As long as I kept to myself, no one bothered me.

When Ari left for England when I was 9 I told him never to come back unless it was absolutely necessary. There was no need to convince him, of course. Those "absolutely necessary time increased around 4 years later, when it turned out my father had a very different definition of 'absolutely necessary' than we did. Ari started showing up at our doorstep at the most random times, yet Father always acted as though he had been expecting him. He always made quite an entrance.

He was usually a wreck, exhausted, bruised, and bloody. Although it wasn't always his blood that stained him.

His boots would be filled with water or sand and caked with dust and mud. His clothes were almost always in poor condition. Sometimes he came with broken bones that had not been properly set or cuts that had been badly mended. I can't count how many times I had to remove sloppy stitches from his wounds and redo them neatly.

Ari rarely arrived in one of the fleet of Mossad cars, but he used the bus or a cab, and sometimes even on foot. The most remarkable were the cars he sometimes brought. They could be in the worst shape or the best shape, and always had a sketchy unknown origin. I helped him burn a Buggati Veyron once, that night he arrived in a full tux with a Halliburton case that he immediately gave to our father. We brought the car out to the desert and scattered its remains.

I knew he had stolen it, but I accepted that. It probably had something to do with the contents of that case, and the secrecy- well that came with the lifestyle.

Ari always managed to get into a fight with our father whenever he came back. He arrived under the cover of darkness the first time he showed up it was merely twilight in Neve Tzedek, our neighborhood in Tel Aviv. It was a Saturday night and you could already hear the city buzzing to life.

They were yelling for a good long time before I got curious enough to creep downstairs, the sight of Ari nearly broke my heart. He stared at my father with bloodshot eyes surrounded by dark circles. He was covered in dust and he had dirt smeared across one cheekbone. I intervened as quickly as I could, even though I knew nothing of their argument from the unintelligible yells I had heard. I told them to stop, and that this conversation could wait until they were back at headquarters in the morning. My father looked at me much as he had my mother when she had done things like that, and Ari wordlessly allowed me to lead him away.

Ari hated our house. It held too many memories of our childhood, a childhood both of us would rather have forgotten. He was 22 and I was 13, but in our eyes we were both the same age, that is- the age of being too old for your real age. We had lived lifetimes more than we ever should have in our few short years, weighted down by things that are not understood by normal people.

The house in Neve Tzedek had ceased being a home to Ari when he started spending more time in Gaza with Hosmoya and our father refurnished his old room to be a guest room. There was not a single sign that the room had once been his, not the paint on the walls, not a stain on the carpet.

It was almost as though Ari Haswari had never been there, as though the very house had disregarded his existence. Of course, this only contributed to his hate of returning to visit.

As soon as she left, I had moved from my space in the attic to Ziva's room, which we had shared back in the day. I had tidied it up and wallpapered it with a pleasant yellow and blue print. I knew she wouldn't be happy, but maybe she would decide it wasn't worth fighting me over and retreat to Ari's old room.

Ever since my mother had died Ari had stayed in my room. He had cared for me while I was recovering from the shock of her death. I had two beds squished together that were always freshly made up, a pair of dressers with a small TV on top and a very comfy rocking chair in the corner.

It felt more like a bed and breakfast and Ari was used to drab hotel rooms that felt nothing like a home, my room was a happy median. Maybe that's why he always preferred to stay with me. Or it was because he was still worried that I would wake up crying, screaming or shaking as I had when I was small.

Then again, I had always been the faithful and loving sister, even in later years when my demons caught up with me and wouldn't go away. I took care of him to the best of my ability every time he showed up at our doorstep. No matter what kind of state he was in, I never pried. He didn't want to accept my help at times, and he sometimes he tried to push me away but I never faltered. I had always loved him, and I never asked any questions.

While he was showering in the bathroom attached to my new room, which I painted a candy red I liked, I would take his clothes and shoes (if they were worth saving) and sneak down to basement while avoiding my doubtlessly busy and pissed off father.

No matter what hour of the night it was, I would wait until the wash cycle was done, throw everything in the dryer and clean his boots just in case he had to get an early start. When I got back upstairs I would place each on the dresser and throw a blanket over my passed out brother.

When I woke up some mornings he was long gone, leaving no trace asides from a few creases that barely disturbed the ironed comforter and an occasional muddy footprint on the tile floor. Other days he would still be out cold, drooling on my pillow and would stay that way until the next night.

One particularly memorable incident occurred while I was on Christmas break during the year I was a student in Paris. It was my last day home and I was both relieved and disappointed that I had not seen Ari. Just hours before I was to leave for my 6 a.m. flight, he came. He showed up with more cuts and bruises than usual as well as a gun shot wound to the shoulder.

At first he was furious that I didn't know how to fix a bullet wound, but I promised I would learn how. In the end he didn't mind so much, no one can fix everything.

Even though I lacked a driver's license, I drove him to the ER in our father's beamer. Ari was treated, and before we could be questioned by the police we escaped.

When we got back to the house our father was awake and waiting. The Mossad work day began at 5, after all. He held out his hand and asked for his keys back. I guiltily handed them to him and he gave Ari a strong, meaningful look. I arrived in France later that same day. I went to school sleepless, jetlagged, and moody. I did not tell anyone what had happened; I never mentioned how I truly lived.

Year after year we would meet in quiet moments in the dark of night. We rarely spoke, just fell asleep or lay awake side by side, wasting away, watching as our hopes and dreams drifted farther into the distance. We had nothing but each other, and one day soon, we wouldn't even have that.


	3. Hearts and Minds

A/N Woo! I'm on an uploading kick today :) I just need to post a few so you get an idea of what the story is about! It pretty much details Tali's relationship with her family and she attempts to explain things along the way *shrug* hope you like it, let me know what you think.

Hosmoya Haswari was an extremely bitter woman and I completely understood why. Her relationship with my father put a strain in all her relationships. She didn't have friends and she rarely spoke to her other family members, who doubtlessly disapproved of Ari.

Her job wasn't good for her social life either. As an ER nurse at Gaza's main hospital, she had unpredictable and long hours. She ruled her floor with an iron fist, and I was there to witness it.

Ari first brought Ziva and I to meet her when I was 11. Palestine and Israel had just signed another peace treaty and air strikes had ceased for a while. We took a tiny private plane to a rundown air strip. Hosmoya had a rather large apartment a block or so away from the hospital. Ziva and I were content to sit there and listen to the old records Hosmoya had collected. There was not much to do there for us; we were just tagging along while Ari got a chance to see his mother. We ate whatever he brought us from falafel stands and seafood shops and attempted to read the local paper with our then limited knowledge of Arabic.

It is a city ruled by men. Women were allowed to be out and around, but they were still far outnumbered. There was a strong Israeli military presence at that point, but we still stuck out shamelessly. Because of our Mossad instruction, however, we tried to blend in. A pashmina wrap I usually used as a cover-up on the beach served as a hijab there. I envied some of the more extravagant Muslim women for their beautiful attire. Bolts of different shades of gauze embroidered with semi-precious beads always caught my eye when we went out. I longed for a collection for myself.

Ziva laughed at me. "Where would you ever wear them?" She argued reasonably.

I would scowl and pull her down Wehda Street to the candy shops. None of the refugee women in Gaza had that type of thing anyway.

It was almost pleasant there with Hosmoya, who paid us no attention, and Ari, who was always out "on an errand"- which I eventually figured out was code for "weeding my way into Hamas to make father happy".

I didn't realize how sad it was at the time, that I would have rather been in a Palestinian country with Israelis like myself were widely unwelcomed than with my father in Tel A.

As for my father, he paid these visits no mind. He never mentioned a thing about safety. He would just shrug and say "go ahead". We didn't really have anyone to worry about us anymore. Father had been pushing Aunt Nettie away since our mother had died, and had essentially succeeded.

I wonder if he ever regretted rendering us incapable of ever truly being his children. I want to know if he ever felt guilty when he looked at that picture of us and realized that he had killed us all. He warped our trust and unconditional love for him into distrust, and hatred.

He was proud of us while we were training for Mossad. I was always so promising. I beat my first polygraph when I was 13, I became a sharp shooter at 10. When I came home from a long training mission in the Negev, he put an arm around my shoulders and congratulated me. Ari was at headquarters in the city, I was grinning like crazy when I arrived, ecstatic that Daddy was acknowledging me. Ari flipped out. As much as Ari could, anyway.

"I'll take Tali back to Gaza with me." He told my father emotionlessly, wrenching me out of his grasp. "And Ziva as well, if she wishes to come."

My father looked at him smugly, told him Ziva was away at the moment, but he could take me. My spirits fell immediately- Daddy didn't want to see me after all. I was angry at Ari for dragging me away as well. I glared at him as we arrived at the airport.

"Are you okay." He asked coldly. Ari had a weird concerned voice, and this came out more like a statement. I nodded and we didn't speak for the whole plane ride.

When we were safe at Hosmoya's apartment and I was cleaned up and played solitary with cards I had smuggled in my bra at the dimly lit dining room table, he admitted to me he would rather not have me in training at all.

"I don't think you should go back."

"Hosmoya would take care of me, and we would both be at least semi-free of our father. He never said this, but I thought it.

"You know I cannot." I replied solemnly. I could not stay in Palestine; I could not impose on his mother.

He nodded. He did know. It was dangerous for me, with him getting closer and closer to Hamas.

I have often thought with vain hope that he would not have changed his allegiances if I had been alive. He lost it eventually, as I guess I always knew he would. It was Hosmoya's questionable death that had pushed him over the edge. Ziva begged him to come back. She pleaded him to turn himself in, but he was entirely focused on that last mission he had set for himself. Another voice would not have stopped him from that bitter end.

I recall a moment when I think of him in this regard. The last moment I saw my brother, just a brief clip from the past. I am screaming. It is raining, raining in Tel Aviv. Ari is walking away from me, I am sobbing. I realize the person he has become. He is a monster. Ziva is heartless. Michael is a jerk. My father is using me. I am alone. I would always protect Ari, I would always love Ziva. I would always treat Michael kindly. I would always be loyal to my father, because that was all I had ever known.

But I was never bitter like Hesmia. I promised myself I would never be as harsh as her. During all the times Ari and I had exchanged glances while she was ranting about what an awful man my father was reinforced that promise over and over again. It seemed it was all she could think about other than her job. With every stitch she gave, she longed to be sewing herself back up. I could see that in her cold ebony eyes.

Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned.


	4. Happily Ever After

**Any criticism you have would be nice, I would like to hear what you think! But I'm not going to turn into a whiny author who begs for reviews all the time. I intend to continue posting no matter what, so there! **

**Tali does indeed have a part in Mossad, mostly because her siblings **_**are not**_** always there to protect her. **

**I realized I briefly mentioned Michael in the last chapter, he'll come back up later :) **

***flashback***

My mother had kind eyes. They were lighter that most people's from our region. I know that much, but little else. I awoke to her sparkling eyes every morning as she coaxed me out of bed and every night she read to me until I closed my own.

The only memories I have of her are fond ones. She comforted me when I had nightmares; she kissed my cuts and bruises and tucked me in at night. All that ended when I was about six, when she died.

Before that, my father had requested for her to stop babying me.

"Rachael, how will she ever grow up?"

"Tali is not your son." She replied angrily.

I know for a fact she did not resent Ari in the least bit. Ari as well had only positive memories of her; she had been his mother long before mine or Ziva's. My parents met on a military base. After her time in the IDF my mother set out to be a teacher, two years of adventure and danger had been enough for her. She had been shot 3 times at one point, the bullets had pierced her lungs and she never fully recovered. (No one ever informed me of the exact circumstances.) She was looking forward to a life as a science teacher on the base.

They passed each other often, walking to their respective buildings until they were introduced through a mutual friend. My father promised her a quiet life with her own house and precious children, but at that point she didn't know he already came with one.

She should have known marrying an agent from a top secret intelligence agency would take its toll on her no matter what kind of protection my father put in place. Constantly looking over your shoulder, rarely sleeping, and always worrying were a full time job for her. On top of that she was never told where her husband was going, or for how long he would be gone. She was resilient and for the most part, alone.

My mother was good at relocating. Her sister Netanya was always willing to take us in. My Aunt Nettie, who had worked for the IDF for much longer that what was required of her, had a reputation for being a hard ass. I could never see how this was, asides from the scars across her face. (She told me were from an IED and a knife fight with a mess cook over the jello being the wrong color, or another equally odd reason). To me she was always sweet Aunt Nettie.

She saw right through my father though, and somewhat affectionately referred to him as a "smarmy little goat". My mother would hush her and give her something to stir while she baked. In hindsight, my mother should have known there was nothing peaceful about the life of a Mossad officer's wife. And I'm sure she realized it while on her death bed, leaving her young children so soon with her husband nowhere to be found. I am glad she did not live to see what became of us.

At least he showed up to her funeral. Nettie slapped him across the face anyway. I'm pretty sure there was yelling involved and the word bastard. I don't know; I was 6.

I vividly remember watching my father during the memorial service. Ziva stared somberly at the floor, her fingers clenched tightly on the chair in front of her. Nettie had an arm around each of us, reaching around every so often to wipe a tear and squeeze my shoulder. But my father barely moved a muscle. I seriously doubted he had a botox appointment that morning, but yes his face remained listless, wiped of all emotion. I still wonder if he was simply beyond grief at that point, or if there truly were no thoughts and emotions floating around in his mind. Maybe he went to work the next day because it kept him busy, it was his routine, and it was normal- surely going to work was better than grief or guilt.

Yet I stood there in the synagogue sobbing, my six-year-old brain pondering if he ever really cared about her, causing my sobs to increase and Nettie to bury my face in her bulky jacket.

He received all condolences insensately, only doing what was required of him. He didn't allow eulogies.

Even Ari came to pay his respects, comforting both Ziva and I the best he could under the scrutinizing gaze of Eli. All three of us had a sleepover that night in the guest room's king sized bed. I woke up crying, but Ari was already awake.

"Please don't cry, Tali. If you are sad, who will be there to cheer _me_ up?" I sniffled as he tucked me under his arm. "I miss your mother as well." He whispered. I could barely hear him over Ziva's snoring. "You should get back to sleep, it is very late." I ducked out from under his protective arm and moved over. "How long will you be here?" I asked quietly. He sighed and moved next to me.

"I will most likely be gone by tomorrow."

I grasped his hand tightly and asked: "Are things going to change now?"

I had barely noticed the pause in Ziva's snoring before she replied: "Yes, things are going to change."

After a week or so the family dispersed, I never saw Aunt Nettie again. I took to making pies on my own then, remembering everything my mother had taught me the summer before she died. No matter how you look at it, there is no deciding factor that indicates how exactly my father felt that day. Sometimes I wonder if he bothered to show up to my funeral.


	5. Do No Harm

**Ahhh! These are all really short, I have a lot of these little bits already written, so I'll try to post 2 a day. I just want them to be posted in certain parts. **

When we were kids Ziva was best friends with the boy who lived next door. His name was Naji and he was an Arab Muslim. Not a day went by without Ziva and Naji playing outside, they never included me. They climbed trees and shared ice cream, did each other's homework and blew bubbles on hot summer nights. It certainly seemed like a fairy tale friendship until Naji was killed by an air strike along with his mother when Ziva was 12.

My father came in and announced it nonchalantly around noon and said something to the tune of: "There is nothing we can do, don't dwell on it, Zivalah. These things happen sometimes."

Ziva blinked back tears for hours after he left, maybe she was trying to prove something to herself and to him, but we were trained from a young age to hold back our emotions. Our housekeeper baked everything in sight and sent us over to his house a few days later. Leila, his pretty older sister opened the door. She looked thin and pale that day, her eyes were sunken and swollen. Her eyes lit up when she saw us. She kissed us both on the cheek and gave us a gentle weary smile. She accepted the food and we went home. The family left soon after that; we never got to know the people who moved in afterwards.

Ziva permanently changed after that. Suddenly laughing and crying became obsolete for her. She packed away all her stuffed animals into a garbage bag. All the little faded bunnies, the extensive collection of care bears, as well as the giant fluffy yellow duck ended up in the crawlspace of our basement. I knew what had happened to her- Ziva had become an adult. An array of events had climaxed and her denial of adulthood had disappeared. Perhaps our childhood never really existed.

Years after Ziva had initially stowed her stuffed animals in the basement I, a wayward explorer, stumbled across them one day. The ceiling had begun to sag where she shoved them in the crawlspace and I curiously took them down. I was about thirteen at the time and Ziva was still around, however momentarily.

"What were these doing in the basement?" I asked her innocently, even though I knew exactly why.

"Where else would I put them?" She answered, shoveling a generous slice of my latest pie creation into her mouth. "I had nearly forgotten all about them." She shrugged.

"Ziva, you can't do that! Stuffed animals have souls!" I said sternly.

"Oh please, Tali." She rolled her eyes and rinsed her plate.

"It's true!" I insisted. "They have souls because we give them little bits of our own! You shouldn't forget about parts of your soul! Look at how many are in here!

That's a big part of you missing."

"Whatever, Tali." She slipped into her leather jacket and out the door.

"I'll have to keep these safe for your own good!" I called after her. "Someday you'll want them back!"

**I** **know, it's so metaphorical I can hardly stand it... **


	6. The Glass Ballerina

**Posting right along… Oh! And I should have posted a disclaimer a while ago!**

**DISCLAIMER: I borrowed these characters CBS and the writers/producers of NCIS own to write a bit of fiction. I'm sorry, I'm not making any money, so sue me for the satisfaction of a job well done that I received while writing this. **

Dance required discipline, and my father recognized this. I had an aptitude for grace and coordination like my mother, and I was still a toddler when I began to aspire to a little girl's dream job- a ballerina.

"It is a valuable art." My father condoned. "If the child wants to be a ballerina, let her. It will come in hand if she ever goes undercover." Maybe my mother thought that was a joke. "Let her learn, but do not let her quit."

I never even considered it. I adored dance, even the rigorous 3 hour practices didn't damper my spirits. Ziva was already signed up for the Israeli ballet program; Eli believed his children should be well rounded.

When we were still very young, we used to take the bus to our studio. Everyday Ziva took my hand and we ran to the bus stop. When practice was over we would catch the bus back. One day the bus didn't come, I was 5 or 6 and we had to walk the 3 blocks home. When we finally mad it to our street we found the bus, it was flipped over in the middle of the street and charred. The windows were shattered and there were cars crushed beneath it. We didn't go to class the next day.

It was Ziva who eventually quit ballet. When she was 12 she began to focus more on the piano, which she eventually taught me to play.

My dance teacher, on the other hand, taught me far more than just dance. Elena Romanov was a real Russian ballerina who had made her aliyah when leg warmers started getting popular. Her eyebrows were shaved and painted back on causing them to always look slightly raised. She had a severe gaze and a keen eye for detail. Not one misstep went unnoticed by her. Elena's voice was as harsh as any drill sergeant's although it was sometimes befuddled by her thick accent.

I learned to speak fluent Russian by the time I was 10 but the only person I ever used it with was Elena and the occasional Russian representative who would stop by Mossad. Elena and I spent far too much time together and bickered like an old married couple. Our relationship was an odd one, she was much older than me and I had been her devoted student from a very young age. We were both friends and enemies. Frenemies, if you will. We criticized each other and argued most of the time. When I remember Elena, the first thing I recall is our shouting matches.

I ended up learning to drive from Elena, who was prone to severe fits of road rage. If I had to choose between her and Ziva though, the choice was clear.

She drove me home from practice a few times a week and when I was 14 she let me try it out myself.

"Vhy not? Zis' car is shit anyway." She pointed out while leaning out the passenger window with a cigarette.

She noticed that no one ever came to watch my shows at the Suzanne Dellal Center, which was only just a few blocks away from my house. My mother went when she was alive and occasionally dragged my father along. Ari showed up at one of my recitals once because Ziva had been in a car crash in Turkey and was being flown back. Then they stopped coming all together.

"Vhere is your family, Taliah?" She asked one day.

"Don't worry about it Elena, I have my passion and that is all I need."


	7. Two For The Road

**A/N: Bad news for me, my family bunny rabbit (who was creatively named Bunny) died last night. When I say the family bunny, I mean the **_**entire**_** family. He was passed along to almost all of my uncles, aunts and cousins. My father was devastated! R.I.P. Bunny… **

**I'm having issues with my other story, it's only showing up on my page and not anywhere else… *suggestions* ?**

**Here's cute little piece about everyone's favorite subject, Ziva's driving! **

When Ziva was around 13 she decided she'd start driving. It seemed perfectly practical to her. What typically seems like a spontaneous with Ziva is actually a carefully calculated decision. With Ari at University, we no longer had _any_ form of transportation, asides from the bus, of course. Ziva probably considered that, but she still wanted to learn, even if there was no immediate need for it.

"This way I can teach you when you're older!" She insisted.

That never happened. Here's why.

At that point, we had a Mossad car parked in our driveway, the beamer didn't come until a couple years later. So Ziva casually grabbed the keys and walked out the door. At least she tried to; I stopped her and begged to go with her.

"Hell no." She replied. "I don't want to be responsible for your death."

"Wouldn't you feel better if you had someone with you?" I pleaded.

"Well okay. Just don't piss me off or I'm throwing you out of the car."

We got in the car, nine year old me in the passenger seat and 13 year old Ziva at the wheel. After nearly crashing into the garage and rolling into the neighbor's garden, we figured out how to put it in reverse and shakily backed out onto the street. Then Ziva hit the gas. We went over a few too many curbs, nearly killed children, cats, and elderly people, and barely escaped intersections in which Ziva had gone through a red light before she finally discovered the brake. If luck had not been on my side I would not lived past age nine with Ziva driving me around.

I am pretty sure a few of my father's colleagues pulled up beside us at one point, and they definitely knew who we were. But when he got home that night, he didn't say anything. In fact, he _never _said anything. He never even asked how Ziva got her license without any formal instruction.

I never got into a car she was driving willingly ever again. In the end, Ziva never taught me how to drive because _she never actually learned how_.


	8. All The Best Spies Have Daddy Issues

**I don't know why I made Tali a pie baker *giggles quietly to myself* I guess I thought it fit her persona. *shrugs***

**And the moment I'm sure everyone's been waiting forrrr… Schumel Rubenstein!**

Shalem Rubenstein was my father's first Mossad partner. Many nights I would find them sharing cigars on our front porch, discussing old times and politics. Shalem had retired from Mossad many years before and became a Knesset member. There was a special place in my heart for this man, who understood all of our most critical family matters. He had known my father for a long time and knew everything about him. Shalem also tried every one of my pie experiments and at least pretended to enjoy every one. Even when I didn't make any or offer him any he would inquire about my rather odd baking hobby.

"I made pie!" I would call through the screen door whenever I heard the hum of their voice on the porch.

"Enough with the pies, Tali! You are making your old man fat!" My father would complain.

"Don't listen to him, Tali, I would love some." Shalem would counter. I had a deep respect for him for that reason.

I went to the supermarket in search of new and exotic fruits to put in pies. Pomegranate and fig seemed to be Shalem's favorite. Finally, Ari brought me a big book of pie recipes from London and my experimenting ceased as I worked my way through it.

Shalem had a son a year older than Ziva, and a daughter a few years younger than me, both of them were good friends of ours. Ziva often told the story of how she beat Schumel Rubenstein up after he declared his love for her while they were on the playground one day. They laughed over it almost every other time they saw each other. Ziva claimed she took him out in one punch, but that was a lie, it was actually 2. Instead of punching back Schumel tried to slap her and scratch her eyes out. We later realized he was as gay as you can get.

The four of us used to go shopping together at Rehov Neve Sha'anan and Miri and I used to meet at parties and have coffee dates right up until the week I died.

Before I dramatically left this earth, I went to the Rubenstein's house to pick her up. She was running late, and Shalem opened the door. He invited me into his air conditioned sitting room.

"Any pie for me today Tali?" He asked, sitting in an armchair.

"No, sorry." I smiled. "If I had known I would have brought you one."

"Your mother liked to bake." He mused, sipping his tea.

"Yes, she taught me."

"And what of your sister? Does she make pies as well?'

"No, Ziva likes to cook." I smiled. "Baking is my area of expertise." I grinned.

"Of course, no one can make a pie quite like you can." He stirred his tea and took another sip. Mine remained idle in my hands.

"Can I ask you a question?"

"By all means! Do not hesitate, my dear!"

"Do you really enjoy all those pies I give you?"

"I will say, most of them are delicious, and I haven't found any to be inedible." He sighed. "But I know your father Tali. I know too well how he treats you and I just think you should be appreciated by someone, even if it just involves sampling some homemade pie."


	9. Outlaws

**There is absolutely no practical reason to read this A/N. You're going to ignore it anyway.**

**Okay, who wants to hear a funny story? **

**So, there I was, freaking out because I had lost the flashdrive that this story is saved on. I looked everywhere but I couldn't remember what I had done with it after I updated. After a good half hour of looking for it, I sat down, figuring it would turn up eventually. Five minutes later I stood up and it fell out of my bra. *headslaps self* D'oh. **

**Hahahaha okay, now that's over:**

There was a big bull's eye in our basement Ziva used for practicing with her knives. She had all different kinds, military issued, ones she had bought herself, as well as gifts she had received. A knife was always a safe gift idea for Ziva. It was something she was good at, and my father encouraged it.

Birthdays at our house were quite an unusual event in my family.

One year I got a pink titanium Hello Kitty themed glock, complete with pink bullets. That law enforcement had confiscated it from an illegal arms dealer and my brother had somehow acquired it from them.

"What practical use does that serve?" Ziva asked, shaking her head and grinning.

"Don't deny it, Ziva, it is _so_ bad ass. I bet you're just jealous."

When Ziva was home, I would often hear a light thunking coming from the basement as she threw the same knife over and over again. It was where she went to think and to pass time. She was calm when she was polishing her knives, but when she was practicing with them it was best to stay out of her way. I was stupid enough to test this once. I went down to the basement to wash the outfit that had fallen into a gutter along with me the previous night. I was click-click-clicking the dial on the washing machine in at a dreadfully slow pace. I was almost about to start it, but she had already flung the knife and it sunk neatly into the washing machine door.

"Bitch." I mumbled.

I waited until the next day to finish my laundry and patch up the hole with duct tape.

As for me, I had a great talent for archery. I learned on my Uncle's stables where he bred Arabians. Unfortunately for me, this was not at all useful in the real world, so I look up sharp shooting instead. I got my first gun when I was 12. My father used to show off my skills to his friends, that's when he first became convinced I would make an exceptional officer. I wanted all the best guns, the coolest and the most famous. I loved anything big and badass.

It was just a hobby, really. I liked them because I thought I was supposed to like them. I never would have used them in the real world; I just borrowed them from the artillery cabinet at the base in the desert. AK-47s, grenade launchers, even missile launchers, I learned how to use them all. Ari taught me how to use a sniper, which I also excelled at.

To me, sharp-shooting was just a replacement for that odd archery hobby I had. I thought it was the same as shooting an arrow at a bull's eye and going to retrieve it. I would never have actually utilized the skills I had in the real world.

But Ziva did everyday. When she threw her knife, it didn't always embed itself in layers of foam and paper.

**Hello Kitty guns? Where ever did you get a silly idea like **_**that**_**! Hmm, I don't know, maybe because they actually exist! Just google image it! **


	10. The Whole Truth

**A/N: Thanks for reading, anyone can tell me what they think! Thank you for the condolences for my dear sweet bunny. **

_"I used to spend most of my time on stage searching for my father's face in the audience." _

I always got the simple part of Heart and Soul when Ziva and I played.

At that point I was not so musically inclined as she was, but I grudgingly allowed her to teach me anyway. She needed someone to practice duets with and I was a convenient partner. Ziva rarely actually performed the pieces she learned, only for Ari occasionally, who also played.

After one long dance practice I returned home to hear her playing Beethoven's Moonlight Sonata on the grand piano in the sitting room reserved for dinner parties that never happened. I was hideously grumpy; my feet were bleeding profusely and covered in blisters that were close to popping. I had enough torture to deal with without point to worry about.

I loudly dropped my wooden slippers in the door frame and watched her play the dreadfully slow sonata even slower than necessary. All the windows were wide open and the tasteful lace curtains blew in the wind.

"Did someone die?" I said obnoxiously.

She slammed her fingers down on the keys, ending abruptly. "Something bothering you?" she asked through a clenched jaw.

"Yeah. Why don't you dance with me anymore?"

"I haven't in ages- It didn't suit me."

"You loved it, don't lie to me. I remember how much you loved it, that's why I started when I did." Ziva kept her eyes down, staring at the keys. "I saw how happy you were in your pretty little outfits, spinning around in the living room and showing off for mother and I. Father always said it was a good talent to have, and since you're currently in the business of being the perfect daughter, I don't see why…"

"Why is this so fucking important to you, Tali?" She hissed, voice shaking with anger.

"Is it because Mom died? Now that she isn't here to praise your every movement you have to move on to Eli?"

"Doesn't it bother you?" She burst, interrupting me.

"What?" I said, suddenly dumbstruck.

"That no one ever comes to your performances? That everyone important to you always has something better to do? What is the point after a while? And stop being so hypocritical." She spat, standing up. "We are both equally guilty of trying to please father. Not everything I do is because of him, just like not everything you do is because of him."

I was silent.

"I'm going off to basic training because I am obligated to. It is the law, Tali, we all have to serve our country- even if father told you that you can study abroad that year. Why are you so pissed about this in the first place?"

"What are you going to do after your mandatory two years? Look at us Ziva! Don't you think we have done enough?"

"Enough of what." Ziva said shortly, crossing her arms.

"Training." I spat back at her "Isn't it obvious, what we were meant to do from the beginning? Ari went off to medical school but look where he ended up anyway- back at Mossad. And so will you."

"Is it such a bad thing, Tali?"

We stared at each other, coldly, eye to eye, in a vicious staring contest.

"I have stayed up all night begging and trying to convince a half delirious Ari to let me sew up a gash in his chest. It was just a fucking cut, but to him I guess it was some sign of weakness for him to accept my help." I told her evenly.

"I had to force feed him water and painkillers and… It was so fucking difficult for him to accept the help of his poor little sister that he would have rather bled out. When you can say you've done that, you tell me what a bad thing it is. You tell me what Mossad does to your mind then. So go off to training, I'll still be wasting away like we all have.

"What are you going to do about it anyway? Not using your talents is the real waste."

"I would rather waste my talents than waste my life with father and his institution. A life like that is as hollow as hell Ziva, as hollow as fucking hell."


	11. There's No Place Like Home

**Oh dear, I think Tali had a bad day yesterday hmm? *pats her head* And gee, I sure did swear a bit in that last! Sorry about that, you'll just have to get over it, I just watch too much Jersey Shore ;) Please don't judge me for watching it, I'm originally from Jersey; I just like watching the train wreck! **

Winter I Paris was the most unpleasant thing I ever experienced. I awoke to blistering cold every morning and some days I feared my bones would crack or my toes would turn blue and fall off. I was captivated by the romance of the city despite the cold. I made some great friends and we had some good times.

Perhaps it was fitting that Ziva would first recount my story to a woman who would eventually become her most trusted confidant. They would sit in a car on a street with a fantastic view of the Eiffel tower. It was one of the same streets that I had traveled on while stumbling back from a New Year's party.

Ziva will never know how many times our paths crossed in the parallel universes of past and present.

I suffered from insomnia while in Paris. I was temporarily free of my normal life which allowed me too much time to think and too many memories to come rushing back. My mother's death, the explosions, the shootings, my brother's distance both literally and figuratively, my sister who was too busy to be with me for long periods, I even had a father who didn't treat me like his daughter because he thought I worked for him.

I never burdened the Champaveres with this information, they were good friends and I did not want them involved. They had a beautiful authentic manor in the Le Marais district. It was always drafty and I dearly missed the heat of the Mediterranean.

A few hours before class, I got up and left the guest room. Staring up at the blank ceiling in the cold waiting for something that will not come is a torture worse than the ones I had to endure. I close my eyes and I remember. Swollen and bruised fingers, my toenails covered in blood- lying on the floor, burn marks trailing up my inner arms and welts on my back, blood crusted onto my face… there was, after all, only one way to prepare for potential capture.

Maybe the cold wasn't that bad.

I heard an odd tapping noise and a loud banging sound. I went to investigate and found one of those antique iron radiators sitting under a window. I went and crouched on the floor beside it, trying to retain some warmth. Because that's all we ever really need- a little warmth to melt the ice around us.

***ahem* that was Jenny^ did you see her? She was barely there…**

**Explanation for that gory scene will be up later.**


	12. The Greater Good

**Sorry for the delay, I just needed to type this part up (in the sun) :) **

The purpose of torture is to break someone's will to keep their secrets.

"You are good at this. It isn't so bad, is it?"

"Well Amit, you've been on the receiving end, what do you think?" I asked calmly through clenched teeth as Amit Hadar methodically burned his way up my left forearm with a lighter.

"Just keep your eyes on the prize and you'll do fine." He said, or something to that effect. "Under certain circumstances the prize could be life or death, depending on how you are holding up. It could also be the lives of countless others. In the end though, it is the gratification of knowing that you have kept your secrets.

I bit my lip, unable to move my eyes from the burn mark.

"What are you getting today?" He asked curiously.

"A sheckel every minute. Ow." I said pitifully as one of the blisters burst open.

"That's a good deal."

"And Michael if giving me half of whatever he wins betting on me."

"What about your sister?"

"She's… away." She couldn't always be there to protect me. If any one of my control officers mentioned this particular type of training when she was around, she usually just insisted that she or Ari needed my help.

"I see." He mumbled knowingly. "How long are you planning?"

"I walked past Tahari the other day, their new shoes are out." I paused. "As long as I can.

Amit shook his head and barely cracked a smile. "You're turning into quite the Bond girl."

"I know." I said apathetically.

"You're ambitious. It's a good quality to have."

I let out a mangled gulp of pain as the red stripe of skin began to crack entirely. He moved to the other arm.

I didn't hold it against Amit, it was his job. He was just the guy who got the assignment. He was honest, and reluctant to give me any sort of mission.

My father, on the other hand, believed resisting torture was one of those valuble skills he believed I might need some day. But he never came to watch. He never saw the blood. He never saw me in pain. He never heard me singing "Hit Me Baby One More Time" at the top of my lungs, trying to ignore it.

Sometime before my mother died, whenever my father would return from a long trip he would pull me onto the couch and run his hands through my bushy brown hair. "He would sigh and say something like "There has been too much death." Or, "you will be safe, little one, someday we all will be," while I squirmed, desperate to return to my cartoons and crayons.

Had it always been his plan to groom me for Mossad? Or did something change his mind? I never really knew.

The memories that made my father seem human flooded my thoughts at those times when I was suffering alone. Sometimes those memories convinced me that he wasn't a bad person at heart.

Maybe I was wrong, and he was not as horrible as I had thought. Even if he did have the best intentions, it did not excuse some of the things he did. Some of the things he did were unforgivable.

Some of us thought of Mossad as our family, but we all died alone.


	13. Every Man For Himself

**I realized that you really have to pay attention to the details of this whole story or you can easily miss some of the points because it's really short. Just an observation.**

****

"Now find your way back."

All three of us stared at our father blankly. What had started as an innocent helicopter ride had quickly gone downhill and turned into something much worse.

"Is he serious?" I mumbled into Ziva's ear.

"I don't know, why don't _you_ ask him." She replied bitterly.

"Have fun!" Eli got back into the chopper, the trees blew around at the edge of the meadow as the engine started back up. I winced when I saw the wildflowers it had massacred.

"He really was serious." Ari remarked as we watched it rise into the air.

"That was entrapment!" I yelled indignantly, swatting at gnats.

Ziva sighed. "Let's get going, we still have five good hours of sunlight."

Just an hour ago I had been tending to the remnants of my mother's garden in the front yard and enjoying my Sunday morning. I was growing cherry tomatoes and strawberries with flocks of asters, heather and honeysuckle.

I had strategically placed clusters of chrysanthemums to protect the assets from intruders and purple butterfly bushes to sustain the troops. (I was being taught tactical concepts and methods. Obviously, the knowledge only applied to some things in my simplistic 9 year old life.) There were the temperamental irises, orchids and the robust desert roses, the stalks of parsley and mint, the marigolds, the primroses, and finally, the forget-me-nots.

I had just finished planting a few impatients near the front door when Ari walked out.

"Want to take a helicopter ride?" He asked. Ziva and Eli are already at the landing pad.

"Sure!" I jumped up enthusiastically. "Where are we going?"

"I'm not sure, nowhere perhaps, but don't get your hopes up." He said forebodingly.

I had certainly not expected to end up in the middle of a forest on the outskirts of Tel Aviv.

"Ari, where are you going?"

"This way, I saw smoke a few miles back, perhaps there is a campground with trails we can follow."

"Well I think we should travel west, that is the direction we came from after all."

"But then we could end up traveling aimlessly in one direction and then just reach the edge of nowhere!"

"Or we could reach a path on the way."

"But what are the chances of that?"

"More than you wandering off in a random direction to find some smoke you _think_ you saw."

"Hey, hey! I can't do every man for himself!" I cut in. "But if it comes to that, I'm going with whoever can get me the hell out of here."

"I thought you liked nature." Ari remarked.

"No, I don't! Not when I'm stranded in the middle of the woods."

"Well I'm going west." Ziva insisted.

"Fine by me."

"Who are you going with Tali?"

They both turned to look at me. I started to squirm, I hated being on the spot.

"Sorry, I have to go with Ziva."

"Tali, are you kidding me?" Ari asked, raising his eyebrows, cursing my unexpected betrayal as indifferently as possible. "Hope you get out alive."

I stuck my tongue out and we parted ways.

Ziva and I walked straight into the woods, but I had faith in her, this was her specialty. I let her forge a path as we hiked deeper and deeper into the woods.

"A swamp?" I asked, stopping as Ziva took a breath and stepped into the soupy, smelly bug infested landscape that lay before us. "Can't we just walk _around_ it?"

"Do you see the end anywhere in sight?"

"Well no." I peered around nervously.

"Tali, come on, lets go. I want to get there before Ari does."

"But I don't really want to trudge through this when we could take a much safer way…and I mean you're wearing boots and cargo pants-"

"We can't all be high maintenance like you, Tali."

"What does that mean?" I frowned, putting my hands on my hips.

"It means… oh please, Tali, just follow me!"

"I'm going around. Cargo pants are ugly anyway, no wonder you've never had a boyfriend."

Ziva looked angry for a very short moment. "Please," she began calmly. "You have to come with me or Ari will kill me. Besides, what happens if you get lost?" She negotiated.

"What happens if _you_ get lost? We can't _get_ anymore lost! I would rather play it safe than follow you into that death trap."

"Fine, be that way!" She screamed as I took off in the other direction.

Looks like it was every man for himself after all.

Half an hour after we parted ways I found a road. About 20 minutes after that a nice couple in a camper pulled up and kindly gave me a ride. I was taught that no one is to be trusted, but I was willing to take the risk.

I got lucky, and as a result, I was the first to reach the end of the forest. Later I would say it was my resourcefulness that got me there an hour before Ziva and Ari caught up. (They got there at essentially the same time.)

We finally left at nightfall, none of us could begin to imagine why this was our father's idea of 'fun'.


	14. The Beginning of The End

**Here is a little backround about how I came up with this story. (It would have been nice to post this a while ago, I know) I start with a story about Taliah Caitlin Dinozzo, Ziva and Tony's daughter. She was 17 and is unnerved by how little she actually knows about her parent's past (they have understandably told her nothing about Mossad and Somalia) so she goes on a journey to figure it out forherself. She meets Kate's family, she tracks down Jeanne, and is eventually lead to Israel and her grandfather. But then I realized how little I actually know about Ziva's past, so I scrapped that and moved on. **

**The next one I started was how Tali could potentially show back up in Ziva's life if she was still alive. (It was sort of like a "catch me if you can" fic ) But THEN I realized that I didn't know anything about Tali and how she could still be alive. **

**So then I wrote this to fill in both Ziva's past and Tali's character! Woo! In the seconf fic I mentioned, this little annecdote is how she explains her life to the police when they capture her. **

When I first got back from my year as an exchange student, I awaited Ari's visit every day. He had business to attend to with our father and Ziva, and on the day that was set for him to come home, I waited for him on the front step. Just as the sun was setting, he pulled up on a brand new black and silver Ducati and I ran to meet him.

"I am so lucky to have such a beautiful sister. My only regret is that all the boys are always chasing you. I can't count how many inquired about you at the bases I have visited." He grins at me.

I laugh and hug him. "I have missed you so much!"

"And I you." He replies sedately, wrapping his arms around me. He paused. "Are you still seeing that douche bag?"

I pull away from him. "As a matter of fact, yes! I am! And you shouldn't care as much as you do, I can take care of myself!"

"I am not doubting you, Taliah, I'm just saying that Michael is the worst ass hole I have ever met. You should break up with him." He declared bluntly, as always.

"Hmm… I guess I never really liked the sound of Mrs. Taliah Rivkin." I rolled my eyes.

"I would say I'm proud of you for making good choices, but I think that would be hypocritical of me."

"Oh yes it would! And right now it would probably be a good idea to go inside, Eli and Ziva are waiting for you."

Ari groaned. "How about I take you for a ride around the city?"

I crossed my arms. "Eli already won't be too happy with your new bike, and he most definitely won't be happy if you're late.

"Our father is rarely happy with anything I do." He reminded me.

The whole city saw my bra that night. The wind had untucked my shirt from my jeans and it was blown up by the wind. We wove through the traffic and barreled through the city as fast as the bike would carry us. I screamed and Ari laughed, then I only held onto him tighter. We knew our father wouldn't approve, but it was the last thing on our minds and that was a rare moment indeed.

I remember the date because on the same day, exactly one year later, I would be dead.

**It's all downhill from here :( **

**Tali will change, the realization that no one can survive with her optimism, in her world, is a little too much for her heart to bear. **


	15. Stranger In A Strange Land

**OKAY! Last one with baking involved! **

It was 107 on the hottest day of the year and my ancient house didn't have central air. I only had 2 industrial fans and a bunch of tiny ones. By mid- afternoon the power had gone out in my antique neighborhood, and then I didn't even have the fans. When I couldn't stand it any longer I took my myself, a cassette player, my headphones, and a Biggie Smalls tape to a produce store in another area of the city. The bus wasn't air conditioned either and I had gotten a sunburn from hell that day.

I listened to the cassette moodily on the highest volume The tap water had heated up to lukewarm, there was no ice to be found anywhere in the city and everyone's nerves were fried. At least 2 fights broke out on the buses before I reached my destination.

I rolled myself up and down the aisles of the brick building on the cart, putting jars of syrup saturated fruit and bunches of fresh berries into it. I mumbled Biggie's lyrics under my breath and enjoyed the cool air provided by their generator.

I was very good at speaking English, but I never really became literate in it. Plenty of people in Israel spoke English as a second or first language. I learned the basics from my parents, who used to speak it because they thought I didn't understand. Ultimately my English was perfected through American rap tapes.

That day it was quite fortunate that I was brushing up on my English however because I stumbled upon an operative who I assumed to be British MI-5. He occasionally hung around Mossad, for classified reasons, of course.

He was standing at the checkout counter thumbing through a magazine a little too quickly and glancing around every so often. I rolled up to him and put my things on the counter.

"Hello Mr. Kort." I greeted him cordially. He tensed immediately as I had expected he would.

"And who…?"

"I'm Tali, Eli David's daughter. We've met a few times."

"Right..." He snarled, looking down at the text again. "Has Eli gotten so insecure that he sent you to spy on me? At the market, no less?"

I smirked. "Hardly." I replied. "I'm not spying, but if I hadn't come over, you would have been suspicious anyway."

"How do I know you're not using reverse psychology to convince me otherwise?" It was obvious he didn't think I was much of a threat by his teasing manner and light tone. I leaned in closer to him.

"Believe me, Mr. Kort, if I was watching you would never know it." I said quietly. "Besides! I have too many pies to make! And I'm thinking of making some rugelach cookies as well… I can just cook them on the sidewalk at this point!" I laughed. I paid in exact change with crumpled up bills and stray coins. "But… should there be someone following you Mr. Kort?" I raised an eyebrow.

"Enjoy your pie miss Tali." He replied with an ever so faint grin on his lips.

I took my bags and left, but before I even exited the doors, I had decided to make him something. I made a raspberry tort with a lattice top because I thought it suited him. I thought it was possible to get him to fully smile again. I left it at the front desk at Mossad and the agent there gave it to him. He laughed.

**Oh Tali, she just charms the dickens out of everyone! So the past and the future cross paths again! What **_**was**_** Trent Kort doing at Mossad HQ anyway? If you know make sure to tell me :D **


	16. Flashes Before Your Eyes

**Tali is not a Mary Sue. (At this point, nobody should think so) I mentioned at the beginning that she is tortured and anguished and I mean for it to hold true. **

**Sorry for that really random chapter Fourteen, I realized I had to post it. **

Ari came home from Edinborough one long weekend when he was exempt from classes. On longer vacations he was almost always sent somewhere even more obscure than our house in Tel Aviv. This time, however, was the only time he arrived at a reasonable hour and it was the only time he was not alone.

"Ari!" I squealed, running toward him and throwing my arms around his neck. In doing so he nearly toppled over the steps that led to the doorway. He smelt like salt and cologne and some sort of chemical. "It is so good to see you! I was not…" Ari gently let me go. "Expecting to see you." I finished coldly. A girl I had not previously noticed smiled nervously from the stoop.

"Taliah, this is Annaleis."

I mentally profiled her. She was a blonde, on the thinner side with large hazel eyes, and judging from the dazed and confused look on her face, did not speak a word of Hebrew.

"Well thank you for the notice! What are we going to do with her?"

"She will be going back to Edinborough tonight, Taliah! She was here for an anthropology seminar this week. I couldn't see the harm in letting her visit if father isn't here."

"Whatever." I sighed.

"You had better come inside." I said in English. "I am making a pie, would you like some Annaleis?"

It was pleasant having someone different to talk to, even if she did poke around a bit too much. Not in our personal lives, but the quizzical details. She observed our boringly traditional paintings of landscapes, flowers, and bowls of fruit. She watched me bake and asked about everything down to the structure of the house itself.

"In the seminar I attended about the history and culture of your city, one professor mentioned that the northern part of the city is wealthier. Would you say this is true, overall? It is good to have someone else's opinion, in my opinion."

I rolled my eyes. She may have been pretty, but Annaleis was rather nerdy.

"Well, with the exception of the Neve Tzedek neighborhood. The houses here are antiques and have been renovated."

"Fascinating!" She leaned on the counter and picked at her slice of berry pie.

I didn't know what Ari saw in her, but I knew whatever relationship they had wouldn't last long. Once he was done tolerating her presence he would regress back to his studies until she stopped talking to him or left him. He would make it seem like it was her idea.

That afternoon I went to ballet practice while Ari took her on a grand tour of the city. (She was thrilled to hear I was in the Tel Aviv ballet, and made me promise to send her tickets. But I knew her and Ari would not be on good terms when my next performance came around.)

By the time they came back I was rushing to get ready. It was a Saturday night and I had plans. Just as I was finishing my mascara the door bell rang.

"Yo, Haswari! I'm here for Tali." The guy said, waving around a 30oz. for emphasis."

"I'm coming!" I screamed down the stairs.

"She's all yours." Ari said skeptically. "It's good to see you Uriel. Have you been able to go back to Mossad?"

"Nah man, that's why I never see you anymore." The sunglasses he was wearing went askew on his nose. "I can't run and I can't lift my trigger arm higher than my elbow. Plus I got a damn titanium plate in my skull." Uriel had been hit by a grenade running black ops in Iran the year before, permanently side lining him. We all made it a point to keep in touch with him though; he didn't have anyone else after he was forced to leave.

I shot down the stairs and after saying goodbye to Annaleis, I went to meet Ari at the door. "You'll be here when I get back, right?" I asked him.

"I just need to drive Anna to the airport at midnight. You're not planning on letting him drive, are you?"

"No." I smiled. "I promise I won't. And I'll be down at the promenade* if you need me."

"Hey Tali, since when has Haswari lived at your house?" Uriel asked, stumbling sideways.

"It's a safe house, dumby. He doesn't live here all the time." I said, pushing him towards the car and waving to Ari.

Uriel's sister Rena was already in the car along with Michael. We had put together quite the party down by the beach. I spun along the boardwalk in barefeet, allowing every lucent thought to escape me. I watched as the city lights glistened from afar as well as the more vibrant ones that flickered and danced from the night clubs and the traveling carnival that had come for the fall.

Ari had once told me "When you cannot feel anything anymore- not pain, not happiness, not guilt or hope- that is when you know you are dead."

But the atmosphere was saturated with energy so intense and bright that I could actually feel it. And as my drink slipped from my hand and I fell to meet the solid boardwalk, the enduring lights continued to sparkle and live far above me.

***the promenade is like a boardwalk down by the beach where you can play games and watch the ocean and take walks. There are 4 in Tel Aviv, I think. **


	17. Solitary

**WARNING:**

**Technically, we only know 3 things for sure about Tali. **

**Died in a Hamas suicide bombing**

"**She was 16 and the best of us"**

**had compassion**

**And maybe what she looked like when she was 4 or 5 years old. **

**I've taken it upon myself to fill in the gaps. The Tali I have characterized may turn out to be quite different than many people have pictured her. ****Sure she has compassion, but was she oblivious? Delicate? Innocent? Hardly. She **_**was**_** a teenager, after all.**

Quite clearly, I never finished high school. I'm pretty sure Ziva did before she joined the IDF and Ari had enough credits to get his diploma a year early. Ari was extremely intelligent, but all Ziva ever really needed were her street smarts.

I skipped school a lot, not of my own accord either. I always had something to do for Mossad, and my teachers could not argue when my excuse notes came from the government that funded it.

I was constantly called to the office to receive phone calls during class. It was usually my father or his secretary informing me that he would be traveling to a top secret location immediately and was unsure of when he would return. I appreciated the thought, but I really should have been in class, I always had a lot to catch up on. I would sigh and say that I would be okay then slouch off to class, avoiding the lady at the desk's curious gaze. Sometimes it was Ari calling to tell me that he was picking me up, in fact, he was right outside.

High school life was pretty much non-existent for me. I would study when I could in the wee hours of the morning and go in at least once a week so I could take all my tests and quizzes.

I did alright in school, I had a B average. If my occupation had not been premeditated, I think I wanted to open a tea shop. I could sell my cookies and pies and serve my jasmine tea and lime hangover remedy to people stumbling into work. Maybe I could have even run a safe house in the basement for the wayward officers and agents, whose situations I could sympathize with. I think I would have liked that.

In my final year I would wake up from a Sunday night binge to find that I had blacked out all through Monday. In Paris, things had been different. I worked hard in school, and we only drank on the weekends and holidays. Over the last summer I had gotten into a bad habit with the rest of my (much older) friends. I had so many more problems than school. Needless to say there were hospital visits involved. And even more obvious- I was not a normal teenager.

I sat with my old middle school friends and tried to relate to their entire lives and conversations that seemed alien to me at best. I felt like an intruder listening to them talk about sports and boys and classes. I would quickly fall behind in their long, detailed and complicated stories usually filled with gossip about people I had never met. I was never bothered to tune back in and pay attention.


	18. Left Behind

When I was released from the Sourasky Ichilov Medical Center for the second time in two weeks, the nurse handed me my personal effects. A wallet, a leather jacket, pants, an empty bottle of Cuervo and a burrito I did not remember buying. The look she gave me reeked of judgment and suggestions of rehab. I slinked away and changed into my old clothes, my shirt was no where to be found so I just zipped up my caramel colored leather jacket as far as I could.

An officer named Jarid Aviv was waiting for me in a car out front. It was a nice surprise; I had been expecting to take the bus home. He worked in research and mostly developed connections and found sources to gather information from. It wasn't the most fun thing to do, but he secretly aspired to do real field work that wasn't based in Tel Aviv. He was in his mid-twenties at that point and very tall, his knees practically touched the steering wheel and he was reading what appeared to be a Home and Garden magazine.

"What happened?" I asked nervously, sliding into the passenger seat. He turned the engine of the Mercedes on.

"We told him you were very sick. He believed us. I have to meet someone this afternoon so I decided to pick you up. How about breakfast?"

"Thank you." I groaned. "I've gone two days with nothing but tasteless hospital food. I forgot how much I love the people in Research department, especially you!" I kissed him on the cheek and we sped away. We had brunch at a pleasant diner in Dizengoff Center and then went to kill time in front of the fountain.

"Do you remember a few years ago when the suicide bomber hit this place?" I asked suddenly.

"How could anyone forget?" He sighed. "We heard it from the building in HaKirya."

"I was there." I reminisced. "I was inside… I wasn't anywhere near the blast but everyone felt it. Wasn't it on the eve of Purim?"

"It was." Jarid confirmed dryly.

"How ironic." I laughed in spite of myself. "On the same day the Jews were saved from extermination by the Persians…"

He shook his head. "We all see the irony, Tali." He sighed.

We both paused, letting the sound of the fountain fill the silence.

"Rena told me you had a bad tequila experience." He began tentatively.

"Well that's the understatement of the century." I said dryly, tossing a coin into the fountain.

"She also said she has your shirt when you want to pick it up."

"Is it blood stained?" I asked, lifting my hair to reveal 17 stitches just behind my ear. "And did she mention anything about my shoes?"

"I didn't ask." Jarid said apathetically.

I sighed, sitting on the stone rim. "My father just believed I was sick?"

"Well we told him you were in the hospital at one point so he exempt you from training and stuff. He wanted to be informed if you were going to need any surgeries… and that was it."

I kicked my scrub-bootie covered feet back and forth. "I feel like I should be irritated by that… but I'm not at all."

"I have always wondered if that bothered you."

"What bothers me?"

"Being neglected."

I looked at him curiously. "My father is a busy man. My mother is dead, Ziva is working- there's no one to care about little old me anymore." I shrugged. "It's been that way for a long time. When I was younger I didn't really understand but it has never bothered me, Jarid. Besides, I have a family! We look out for our own!" I smiled half-heartedly and stood up.

"Do you want me to take you home now?" He asked, looking down as though he were ashamed to listen to his superior's family issues.

"Well where are you going now?"

"The Lahat Promenade."

"I could do with a stroll by the beach. We still have time right? I'll just scurry off when your appointment comes." I winked at him.

"Sure, lets go." He smiled at me reassuringly, but I had already looked away.

**Yes, the Aviv mentioned is the one who eventually dies on the Damascus, I just gave him the first name Jarid. He was the Mossad guy who was always in the background during "Good Cop, Bad Cop" … I'm sure not many of you noticed him! All the places I mentioned are real places, too. That bombing at Dizengoff Center (a mall) did indeed happen. **


	19. The Shape Of Things To Come

**This one's mostly about Tali, it's not really based on anything mentioned in the show, just something I made up. I really don't like this chapter, but ****it makes some good points so I feel like I had to post it. **

When I was young, I was naïve. I wanted world peace when most girls my age wanted a car or a boyfriend. I envisioned myself as a sort of Mother Theresa, the MLK of the Israeli and Arab peoples. I used to drop all of the change I had on me into UNICEF collection boxes and I never missed a day of school when Peace Now was running a program there.

Of course I never intended on being a martyr, although I would become one. I was a martyr for all the wrong reasons. My death was not an incentive for peace, but an excuse to continue fighting. I would rather have my death considered an accident and left at that. I would rather have been forgotten than remembered as an innocent that must be avenged. I _never _wanted that.

My dream was indisputably impossible, but I liked to dream it anyway. It became my constant refrain whenever someone asked me what I wanted as a gift from the time I was 8.

"I wish I could give you world peace right now, Taliah." My father told me. "But then I would be out of a job, you know."

Ziva snorted at me. "Sure Tali, I think I saw some world peace on sale somewhere." She was 12, and even she knew the fallacy of my dream.

One thing is for sure, I would have made a great beauty queen with all my knowledge of the Israeli-Palestinian conflict. I was persistent to a fault.

I remember exactly what I wore that day as I pulled up to the Mossad base in the Middle of the Negev desert. A pink sweater that had shrunk in the wash and a pair of denim shorts that wouldn't have been acceptable even if they _had _shrunk in the wash.

I got there at midmorning in my father's car; the sun was already high in the sky. Three commandos at the heavily reinforced gate aimed their rifles at me. The tinted windows probably made it difficult for them to identify me. It didn't help that I was wearing black sunglasses either. I came to a stop at the gate and removed my keys from the ignition. I stepped out of the car with my hands up.

"Hello boys." I grinned. "You must be the valet."

"This isn't your car." The guard on the right side of my car remarked.

"Well spotted." I said petulantly. They searched the car methodically.

"You don't even have a license." He stated.

"I have a Mossad badge." I shrugged.

"Well you shouldn't." He said viciously, smirking in my face.

"Aw, Reuven, you grow on me more and more every time I see you." I said, still smiling and patting him on the cheek. His face was already trapped between grinning and scowling whenever I saw him. "You'd better hide it." I handed him the keys. "It stands out."

"You are not the heiress to this place you know. You do not own it anymore than your father does."

"Oh?" I said in an amused tone and took my messenger bag and my titanium government issued briefcase from the other guard.

"Why are you here?" Reuven asked, crossing his arms.

"I'm not training this time, I'm here for business. I'm not sure really, when Hadar handed me an indestructible case and said 'Deliver this package to Eli in the desert immediately' I didn't ask too many questions."

"Of course, what better courier than a girl too young to drive in a very noticeable car. Very inconspicuous, eh boys?" His minions chuckled.

"Leave me alone." I rolled my eyes and pushed him out of the way.

"Come back soon!" He called to me as I wobbled away on my platform sandals.

"Fuck you!" I yelled back in an equally cheerful tone.

Not all recruits understood my involvement in the agency. In Tel Aviv they were used to me being around a lot. Some officers and trainees in the desert couldn't understand for the life of them why my father had let me join Mossad. But I wasn't a threat, I wasn't in the way, so there was nothing they could do but disapprove. I was used to whispers and prying glances.

They joked about my French manicure and my hair extensions. They joked about how I couldn't be less like my sister in both appearance and personality. But they couldn't joke about how incredibly good we were at our jobs.

I wandered across the gritty yard, heading toward the only air conditioned building on base. The barracks I would be staying in would be no where near as comfortable. I was grateful for the cool air that greeted me when I stepped through the office doors. The walk from the gate to the building seemed like an endless trek, and I had already begun to sweat.

There was no front desk and no one was there to greet me, as usual. I cursed as a six pack of Goldstars clanked together in my bag. The sound reverberated in the empty hall.

"Tali?" I spun around. "What are you doing here?"

"Oh! Namir! Hi! What are you doing here?"

"I asked first… I did not expect you to be here." He said, his brow furrowing. I hoped he wasn't recalling the spur of the moment make out session we had shared the last time I had seen him. I had a crush on him for years, but I decided he wasn't for me.

"Ziva will be here tomorrow, I'm going to wait for her. I haven't seen her since I first got back from France, so I jumped at the chance to come here. I'm being a paper pusher today." I indicated the briefcase. "I presume my father is here?"

"Yes, he's in his office. I just saw him, I was checking in after a mission…" He did look scruffier than I remembered. "I think he has a conference call now."

"That's good." I sighed in relief. "Maybe I won't have to talk with him. You… wouldn't happen to have seen Ari, would you?" I said quietly.

"Haswari? No, I haven't. He comes and goes, sometimes in the dead of night."

"Yeah I figured. I'll see you later, Namir. I'd better go get this shit to my father."

"See you. Oh, and Tali? I expect to get one of those beers."

I groaned. "You'll get it." I promised, and then made my way down the hall.

I had not been disappointed when no one had been there to greet me at the airport. I did however; find it somewhat pathetic that I went directly to the Mossad building to find out where my family was.

My father was indeed on the phone. I attempted to toss the case on his desk and run away, but before I could he snapped his fingers and motioned for me to sit. I flopped down into the chair and the bottles in my bag clinked mercilessly. Luckily my father was too occupied to notice.

I felt suddenly self-conscious and tucked my newly highlighted hair behind my ears and clutched my bag to my side. I sat there rubbing my feet together and didn't listen to anything my father said.

"Hello Taliah." He said when he finally hung up. He removed a key from a locked box inside his desk and unlocked the case to reveal what I knew was information too sensitive to be sent over the wires. "What have we here…"

"Mission reports, sit reps, statuses." I shrugged.

He glanced up at me curiously.

"I have of course opened them, read them and resealed them. Ziva's really in Cairo?"

He pursed his lips and moved the papers around. "In other circumstances I would be proud, but I refuse to condone this."

"I'm sorry father, but I don't really care that you don't condone it. Now if you don't mind, I have spent the better part of this morning navigating uncharted desert to get here." He shook his head, still studying the documents as I stood up.

"Ah Tali, you are the finest diamond in all of Israel." He seemed to be smiling in spite of himself. "Beautiful, but so hard that you are nearly impossible to break."

"I suppose." I said suspiciously. Where is everyone?"

"They are out training. Officer Eschel just came by as well, he is awaiting reassignment. I myself will be returning to Tel Aviv at the end of the month."

"And I will be here to greet Ziva."

"Very well." He said. "Oh, and Taliah?" He stopped me before I could walk out the door. "These documents; I know who you are looking for and you will not find him. He is a komemiute* now."

I forcibly curled my lips up at the edges. "It is nice to see you, father."

It hardly took an hour to make me wish I had never come to the desert. Eschel, who would become Ziva's partner, had offered me a cigarette in exchange for the beer I gave him. I graciously accepted even though I had never really enjoyed smoking. The one he had given me, a Noblesse, also happened to have a ridiculously high nicotine level; it was no where near the nicotine level I was used to in Paris.*

We sat outside the barracks in the dark; my shoes and sweater were long discarded. I sighed and watched the lights in my father's office moodily, taking a deep drag and hacking a bit.

"Not a smoker I'm guessing?" Eschel asked, laughing at me.

"Not really Namir." I said crossly. "Only when I'm stressed out."

"You don't look stressed out."

"Am I making you uncomfortable?"

"Oh no, I don't care. It's certainly hot enough out here to walk around shirtless. Besides, it's nothing I haven't seen before." He rolled his eyes.

"Let's agree to never talk about that _ever _again." I hissed, digging one of my long fingernails into his collar bone. "And don't mention it to _anyone_ or I will twist your balls off and play a morbid game of ping-pong with them, then I'll rip you kidneys out and wear them as earrings." I growled.

"That's creative."

"Thank you." I left a moon shaped dent where I had been poking him.

"But what will you do if someone walks by?"

"If you're so worried why don't you get me one of _your_ shirts? I was only planning on staying until tomorrow morning, so I didn't bring anything else." I shrugged.

"You didn't bring anything to sleep in? Why don't you just ask your boyfriend, he should be back soon."

"We weren't planning on sleeping." I said suggestively.

Namir sighed. "How did _Michael_ end up with a girl like you? You are so different from all of us and you're nothing like your sister. You have so many sides… sometimes I think I can see right through you and other times…" We chuckled quietly. "Never mind, I don't know what I'm saying. It must be the beer, what did you put in it?"

"It's alright; I'm used to people analyzing me, especially when I come out here." I rubbed my temples. "The troll at the gate this morning felt like he needed to tell me that I "wasn't the heiress of this place" and my father called me a "diamond". What's up with that?"

"Maybe that should be you nickname." He grinned.

I laughed. "Do you know what my name means in ancient Hebrew? Taliah means "lamb". I am a lamb*!"

I smiled, just as the lights went off in my father's office.

Ziva arrived on schedule the next day. At the sound of a helicopter touching down I sauntered into the midday sun. Ziva tossed her head phones and jumped out of the helicopter before it was fully grounded to meet my father, not me. She looked furious, and I would later learn that he pulled her out of a mission that had been compromised, even though she claimed that she could clean up.

My hair blew around in the sand that was inevitably disrupted by the chopper. The noise was disrupting my thoughts and my ability to hear what they were saying. My sister was screaming, my father was yelling back at her, the flight crew scrambled to secure the helicopter as the sun beat down on us all.

It looked like a war zone.

Fleeting moments- that is all I ever got with the people I cared for. But that day I went back into the building; I could talk to Ziva later. For now, I was glad to leave this scene behind.

***the Komemiute Division is a part of Kidon; the members do not interact with headquarters and have a very deep cover. **

***out of curiosity, I looked it up and apparently when this story is taking place, there was no smoking age in France or Israel. (not that it would have stopped her) Now I guess it's 18 to buy it in a store… but you can buy them out of a vending machine when you're 16? I have no idea, it is **_**way**_** too complicated. **

***when I found out Tali meant "lamb" and Ari meant "lion" I freaked out and had a major revelation. I don't think anyone has noticed the relevance of that… did you?**

***Remember when Eli called Ziva "the sharp end of the spear"? Well I started wondering what he called Tali and I thought a diamond fit. Israelis know their diamonds, after all. **


	20. Something Nice Back Home

**A/N: This one is all Tali and Ziva. **

**I was worrying that we may learn more about the Davids this season when Ziva's Mossad loose ends are tied up, **** In that case a lot of this would be rendered irrelevant. Oh well, we shall see. **

Ziva got pounded 12 weeks after I saw her in the desert. She got hit with some seriously high caliber bullets through a vest that prevented some damage, but caused some as well. Back then vests were more bullet resistant than bullet proof.

Anyway, the vest imploded and lodged a few shards of steel in her skin, but the real issue was the damage that the force of the impact had caused. Apparently one of her ribs had broken and punctured her lung and she had coughed up enough blood to get herself sent home for a couple of weeks.

Of course I was never told the exact circumstances, but again, I was the good little sister and never asked her.

She was very jet-lagged when she picked up a brush to comb her hair out. I was sitting on the couch eating cereal out of the box and enjoying the blare of the television.

She sighed and smiled sadly. "Do you remember when your hair was short and frizzy and stuck out from your head?"

"Those are dark times that no one dares speak of." I intoned.

Ziva chuckled.

"When I was 10 I finally figured out how to tame it so it looked somewhat presentable."

"I guess I understand the extensions, then." She continued with long even strokes. "But what about all your ear piercings? How did you do them all?"

"Rena did them with a needle and an ice cube. I told father it builds character, he was alright with it. I can do it for you!" I smiled deviously.

"Not right now thanks."

"They may come in handy on one of your missions, right? By the way… how is it? Officer David?" I peered over my shoulder at her.

"Well, it's not like I haven't been exposed to this before, you know."

"I know. You've been on missions before you were drafted."

"How did you…?"

"I acquired the files. Come sit, I'll finish doing your hair."

"Acquired?" She repeated indignantly. "You're too sneaky for your own good." She sat down at my feet.

"I have magnetic fingers. Except they pick up papers I'm not exactly supposed to be reading." I shrugged. "What about the people? Are they being nice to you? Made any friends? And how about sexy friends I could possibly date because I broke up with Michael?"

She grinned. "I did sleep with my control officer, but it was strictly professional."

"Yeah, that's a great way to break the ice. 'Strictly professional' my ass… actually, I forgot who I was talking to, so that is perfectly believable." She punched me in the leg and I rolled my eyes. "Which one, anyway?"

"Ben-Guidon." She sighed, rubbing her temples.

"He's pretty good looking. Want to switch? You can have Michael. I'm sure you need a second opinion on Malachi anyway. Sisters are supposed to share, right?"

Ziva was not happy. She hated being sedentary, but at least she tried to embrace it. She sat in front of the TV, eating the junk food I bought for her daily. I would guiltily ask her a million times if I could get her anything before going out for the night. She would glare at me and gulp her frozen margarita until I left. As far as I knew, she had refused to take her pain medication. "It's an experiment. I don't want to feel drowsy and confused." She explained. There was no use in telling her that she didn't need to be alert here and that it was okay to be high for a few days. She had gotten leave time precisely for that reason, it wasn't like she was at work anymore.

"So far it's not that bad." She brushed it off. Well maybe it wasn't so bad for her, but I was the one who had to deal with her. It wasn't my fault she got hurt, and there was no reason for her to take out her grumpiness on me. Ziva was just frustrated that she couldn't even go and see her friends while she was recovering from surgery.

I took her to the beach on the days she wanted to come with me. She sat in the hot sand in a navy blue bikini, displaying her bruises and scars. She smiled, and it was then that I thought maybe she didn't mind being in Tel Aviv and being back home so much.

But she was still eager to leave and get back to whatever it was that she had left behind. I wished she would stay with me longer, but I was happy to have her company for a short time in my mother's empty house. Now at least the pies I made got eaten, and there was someone there to worry if I never returned there after a long night.

Sometimes I would stumble into the front door drunk, sometimes only mildly so. On those hot summer nights I would hit up the clubs in downtown Tel Aviv. A Mossad badge can get you pretty much anywhere in Israel, but I usually just used the ID generator. (Of course I wasn't actually _supposed _to be using it; I had to be really stealthy about it if I couldn't convince a technician to do it for me.) I had always looked older than I actually was, too. All the other trainees did the same thing, but all of them were older than me and some were even old enough to get in without the badge. We got into the priciest resorts and private beaches meant for only the affluent that way as well. Ziva rarely came with us. She didn't want to abuse her power, I suppose.

I don't want anyone thinking all Mossad trainees are all irresponsible and drunk all the time, because that is certainly not true. Every one else did their absolute best. The irresponsible and drunk all the time description unfortunately fit _me_ best.*

"You have training tomorrow!" Ziva yelled at me as I was doing back flips and dancing on top of the bar one night to the house music she loathed. "You had better get back home, it's a fucking Monday night!"

"It's only midnight, and you're just jealous! How did you get in here looking like that? And how did you get through the crowd?" We looked out at the rave that was currently in session. She sat on a bar chair and I leaned over so I could hear her. She still looked awful in track pants and a tank top. Healing cuts still stretched over her face and were only accentuated by the purple circles around her eyes.

"I was sneaky! And I kimbo-sliced my way through!" She smirked.

"Don't stop dancing!" Someone from the crowd insisted.

"Well well, Tali David, aren't you the life of the fucking party." She said crossly.

"Goddamnit, Ziva, please take your pills if you're gonna be a bitch! You shouldn't have come! You'll pull your stitches out! And are those my Madge track pants*?"

"Yes." She said devilishly. "And what are you going to do about it? Hit me over the head with that bottle of…?"

"It's Ciroc! And I most certainly will! Do you know what those pants cost me?"

"Not as much as that bottle?"

"What? No! Some guy bought this for me, said I was a dime. Do you want to help me finish it?"

"Only if you promise not to get revenge because I wore your luxury track pants." She said mockingly.

I pulled her up onto the bar with me and steadied her as she took a swig from the bottle. People cheered. "Hey Ziva!" One of our friends yelled.

She smiled up at the lights and we danced. With a bottle of vodka between us, our anxiety and pain were suddenly forgotten.

We went to one of those posh beaches on Thursday morning. It wasn't a popular vacation day and the guard at the entrance let us pass. I pulled out a pair of binoculars every once in a while to so it would look like we were doing surveillance on one of the sailboats close to shore.

"So tell me what you're doing Zee. I'm your sister, I should at least have a hint."

Ziva took a deep breath and repositioned her shoulders, the newspaper on her face shifted slightly. "Well you can think that all you want."

I had been expecting that answer. "Don't be a bitch." I propped myself up on my elbows. She reached up and removed the paper from her face and peered around. No one was there besides us, the ships, and the sounds of the ocean.

"I have taken father's old position." She whispered.

"Father's old position?" And then it came to me. Operation Wrath of God and Black September…what he had called the glory days. I laughed, it was absurd to me once the puzzle had clicked itself together in my head. With that one phrase she had told me exactly what she did and what department she had been assigned to. I assumed she had been assigned, anyway. "Kidon?" I giggled. "Seriously?"

"What did you think we were being trained for?" I stopped breathing. I stopped moving. I flopped back onto my towel. "I mean, think about it."

I already was. I knew that when we were recruited we would be involved in some pretty risky affairs, but not assassinations.

"Holy shit." I said, squinting out to the horizon. Something had caught my eye.

"How many things can you use as a deadly weapon? How many times have you been drilled to make a quick get away? Maybe you will not be in the same department as me, though." She shrugged. "You are a very good actress. How many polygraphs have you beat again?"

"Seven…" I said picking up the binoculars.

"I'm sure you'd like Collections, then. You would certainly fit in!" I didn't reply. It's not everyday someone essentially says to you: "You would be great at overseas espionage!"

"Um, Ziva? How fast do you think we could make that getaway?"

"Why?"

"Because there are two guys with M16s on that suspicious looking motor boat giving us awfully dirty looks."

"Oh shit." She breathed, allowing terror to show on her face for less than a second before she shouted "Run!" We ran across the burning hot sand, a trail of bullets following us all the way down the beach.

**Oh crap! No characters were hurt in that last scene, don't worry! Those guys were just some disgruntled old friends of Eli's (most likely). Unfortunately, this is one of those scenes I'm going to let ****you**** interpret. **

***ahem, to those of you who are not so fashion inclined, when I wrote "Madge track pants" I am referring to Juicy Couture velour track pants. The brand was made popular around that time by Madonna (whose nickname is Madge). Originally, many of their pieces had "Madge" printed on them because Madonna's were personalized and there was a high demand for replicas. **

**Now I feel like Ducky! Because there is absolutely no need for you to **_**ever**_** know that! Hehehe…**

***the drinking age is Israel is 18, and apparently they don't card you unless you look really young (source is my friend who went on trip with her temple) usually kids over there don't binge drink but our little friend is the exception! **

**besides, I think Ziva would be a pretty cool sister, right? **


	21. Abandoned

**A/N: I have the daunting task of finishing this now. (but obviously I'm not doing anything this summer, I've never worked a day in my life sooo right now I'm writing fanfiction and going to pool parties for a living! I'm such a productive member of society, I know!) There are approximately 3 more chapters, the last two I am currently still working on. **

**I am very exited to show them to you, I think they will be among the best pieces. **_**Hopefully**_** it will be all finished this weekend. ONWARD! And brace yourself…**

I saw Ari briefly once more after he came to see us with his motorcycle. Ari was in Tel Aviv for a day only to receive orders from Eli and the prognosis, apparently wasn't promising. I gathered that I would not see him for a very, very long time and he couldn't face me. He was running because he didn't want to accept that this was what I was doomed for too one day soon and there was nothing he could do.

When Ari left for good I was falling apart; I didn't know what to do anymore. The realization that no one could survive with _my_ optimism in _my_ world had crashed into me, causing me to have a rather large crisis of faith. My optimism had slowly but surely flickered out.

I wanted to love people that would not let me. Ziva wasn't there to see most of it, for that I suppose I am thankful. She will remember me as a whole person for the most part, not troubled and broken.

"You don't get to leave me!" I was sobbing and trying to yell over the noise of arriving and departing planes. The sound of the rain hitting the pavement did not help either. "Ziva can go play soldier, and father can treat me like one, but you? You cannot leave me here!" I said, pushing my hair around wildly. The customary Tel Aviv thunderstorms were coming. I hated them; the harsh light and the ruthless noise made me feel insecure no matter where I was. He had to depart now or take his chances with the coming storm.

"You're being ridiculous." He said coldly, as though he had never known me at all.

"Don't you realize what will happen to me? He will turn me into an assassin; he will encourage me to join Kidon until I have no other choice! I don't want to _live like that_!"

"You already do." He said steadily. "He has handed me a death sentence and ordered me to live through it. And I will. I _never_ wanted this, Tali, please know that. What choice did we ever have? You may already have no where to turn, but you are a runner- I am my father's son. One day I will get my chance."

"What about me?" I screamed without thinking.

"When you can, run. Run far away from this place and forget everything that has ever happened, everything that Eli has ever done to you. I cannot help you."

"Have I _ever _mattered?" I said with anguished tears beginning to spill from my eyes.

He does not answer.

"Then what does?" I whispered.

"Revenge matters." He said candidly.

I looked him in the eye and I cried. "Please, please, don't do this to me. Father has only ever wanted what is best for us; he just has a creative way of showing it! You don't need to leave! This doesn't mean…"

"This is what I was made for Tali. I have been trained for his since I was 5. Although you may not think so, you are his favorite. You are being spared for longer than me." He said briskly. "I won't be back for a very long time. You have never deserved having all these issues being thrust upon you. Out of everyone in the world you probably knew the most about me."

"Then why do I feel like I don't know shit about you?"

"You suspect things." He pointed out. "You have always been observant, Tali, and the ability to make educated guess about who I am and what I do- how I feel- is much more than anyone else could ever hope for. I don't want you to get hurt, and I don't want to have to hurt you." He turned and started to walk toward his plane.

I sunk to the ground on the already sopping wet tarmac."Ari!" I screamed in vain. I sat there long after his flight left, long after the rain had stopped, but not before our conversation, and his voice, had stopped echoing in my head.

**Wow! I got 45 new visitors and nearly 300 new hit from the time I passed out at 4am until noon! Thanks so much everyone! hope you are enjoying it!**

**In case you were wondering, I have tried, but I just can't write stories that aren't dark. Even if I try **_**not**_** to. I would write fluffy shipper stories if I could, but alas, it would probably just turn out to be some sort of morose comedy. **


	22. Because You Left

**I am flattered that I am still getting subscriptions, even though I thought this was the part of the story that I would definitely lose people on. **

**Sorry if this rambles a bit, but it is supposed to because Tali is distraught. **

_"I spent my summers in Haifa." _

With each passing day I felt as though I was tumbling faster and faster down a very steep hill. I had lost my balance for good and I was falling, falling, falling. The only thing I ever had a slight control over was myself, and now I had lost control of that.

Ari thought Michael didn't deserve me and I suppose he was right. I was something pretty to stand next to, a piece of arm candy. We shared mutual friends; Ziva was the one who had initially introduced me to him. We had a good time together, I suppose. We hung out, we partied, and I supposed it never hurt that I was the deputy director's daughter.

I loved him, but I'm sure he never _really_ loved me. I knew he had the potential to love me, but I wasn't going to wait around too long for him to come to that conclusion. He wasn't that good looking anyway. So we broke up and remained friends. It worked for the both of us even though I had serious doubts it would.

The day after Ari left, I took a shower, put my wet hair in a bun and went to ballet class. I didn't speak to anyone all day. Michael called; a few of my other friends did as well. I shut off my clunky black Mossad issued cell phone. I tried to concentrate and find solace in the repetition and familiarity of the steps.

Ari would be back- he always came to debrief in Tel Aviv after a mission. It wasn't a suicide mission if it was executed correctly, and I was sure Ari had no intention of failing now. It would be a long term assignment, but he was valuable to Mossad. I knew my father would not be so quick to terminate him or even send him away forever. He would never keep him away from Tel Aviv… from me… forever? I needed to stop thinking so much.

I shouldn't have dwelled on it for as long as I did, there was nothing I could do anyway. Maybe Ari was onto something when he said I was being ridiculous. But he had also essentially said that I did not matter anymore- but that getting back at our father did. Ari would take it to the highest level if he had to, I knew him well enough to conclude this. He would complete his mission and convince Eli all was well.

I wondered where he would start. Maybe with me, or Ziva. Would he hurt us in order to get to our father? We were valuable assets as well- Eli could not bear to part with us at the present moment. Ari knew as much about Eli as one could.

The whole situation unnerved me. I started to think about all the times he had not been around. Maybe something had happened while I wasn't with him that had made him this way. When we were young he used to visit Hosmoya while we were in Haifa- which brought me to an entirely different topic.

Those better days when Ziva and I used to play in the ocean, and make sand castles that were swept away quickly by sudden violent waves. Our mother whispering in my ear to make angels in the sand for her friends and family who had passed.

When I was 10 we sold it. That beautiful white washed house had been one of the main scenes of my short lived childhood. I realized it was dearer to me than I had previously thought. It had existed back when my sister was still my sister, my mother was still alive and when my father was only an inconsistent figure in my life.

"Tali? You didn't come to HaKirya today, I was wondering where you were. You really have to stop missing training, your father isn't pleased as it is…"

Michael found me that night sitting at the dining room table contemplating a bowl of fruit. I glanced up at him petulantly.

"I don't care." I sighed.

" Tali, what are you trying to accomplish here?" He said nonchalantly.

"I'm not sure what I want, I suppose."

"We are all living fast and most likely dying young, love. So you had better decide soon."

"I think I need to go somewhere." I said.

"Right now?" He whined, snaking a hand through my hair and bending to kiss my neck.

"Very subtle." I said sarcastically, pushing him away. Any other night I would have let him. "Besides, I told you we're not together like that anymore."

"Yeah, because Ari Haswari told you he didn't approve."

"Michael, he's my brother…"

"Tali, that man can never be your brother and you know it."

"I really need to leave." I said, turning away and biting back tears. I ran around the dining room table and up the stairs. Once I had located the keys to the beamer I practically tumbled down the stairs, rushed past Michael in the dining room and out to the garage.

He followed me. "Where the hell are you going?" He asked moodily.

"You'll have to come with me to find out." I replied, diving into the driver's seat.

He sighed, opened the passenger side door and got in.

I stepped on the gas and flew down the main road.

"Doesn't your father get angry at you for occasionally stealing his car?"

"He shows his disapproval quietly." I replied, taking a left at the Holon Interchange onto route 20.

"The highway? Really, Tali? Where are we going, Syria? And I'm pretty sure you shouldn't be going 85, especially if you don't have a license…"

"Calm down and be patient. Why do you think I take my father's car? The police leave me alone." I said, losing patience with him. He promptly turned on the radio and fell asleep.

I made great time. After 45 minutes of traffic weaving, swearing and honking, I started seeing the signs.

"You have got to be kidding me." Michael said, staring up at the sign as we passed it. "Haifa?"

"Shut up." I said shortly

It was dark by the time I finally pulled up to the pretty little house in Haifa. It wasn't yet summer and during the long winter it had fallen into disrepair. The exterior was chipped and faded, and the clay flower boxes my mother had once meticulously cared for were shattered and rotting. The trellis that was once covered in beach roses was over grown with weeds.

"Did you really expect to find anything here?" Michael asked, no bothering to get out of the car.

I stood in front of it, trying to wipe my tears away. It was an inevitability of life, returning to a place full of memories only to discover it does not exist anymore. Most of the original houses were gone now, replaced by condos.

"Get back in the car!" He demanded. "I'm going to training tomorrow and you're coming with me!"

With that settled, I got drunk anyway and passed out in the car while the night was still young. Michael drove us back at four in the morning at a ridiculous speed while I gazed forlornly out the window.

"I'll be right in, tell them." I assured Michael. "I still have 5 minutes, go on." We stood at the entrance and Michael glanced back at me once more before entering the main building.

I waited until he was safely inside before doubling over and throwing up on the grass repeatedly.

"You're going to be late."

I stood up to face Amit Hadar, the current head of Kidon, who stood there with a concerned expression and his arms crossed. This was the man who knew the answers. He could tell me where Ari was, he could tell me what I needed to hear, although I didn't want to hear it. _You may never see your brother again. _

I wiped my lips with my sleeve harshly and walked right past him and through the doors to Mossad with my cheeks still stained with tears.

**The next chapter is the moment we have all been waiting for, I'm not sure if it will be up tomorrow, but definitely by Friday. **


	23. What They Died For

**This is it. The moment this story has clearly been leading up to. There will be ****one more chapter ****that will set Ziva and Ari on their proper paths. **

**These notes seemed appropriate to put at the beginning of this chapter considering its brutality and depressing nature. **

***Collections (which I have mentioned previously) is the wing of Mossad that deals in overseas espionage, they **_**collect **_**intelligence and have a diplomatic or unofficial cover, which I am assuming is what the ambassador was in the episode "Shalom"**

***Yes, Barbie is available in Israel. I did a paper on "The Creation and Cultural Significance of Barbie In The Modern World" so I would know. **

I am a rock that falls into a deep sea. As I sunk the ripples spread, but I was only a minor disturbance on the surface. By the time the ripples I had made would reach shore, I would have already hit the bottom. There was nothing anyone could do for me then. I was that solitary stone that sunk into the abyss, and I did not bother to watch as the surface rose farther and farther above me.  
Then my eyes opened and I discovered that I was staring at the ceiling in a windowless room. I knew immediately that I didn't want to get up. My clock told me it was nine in the morning. I knew I should have been at Mossad hours ago, but last night I had made the decision that it wasn't worth setting an alarm. All I wanted to do was lie in bed and feel like I was that rock in my dream again; sinking in the sea. But I had places to be today, my life did not allow me a day to rest and forget the world.

I walked to Mossad that day because I had already missed the commuter buses. I listened to the sounds of the city while trudging down one of the quieter streets with my hands in my pockets.

I walked past one of the many jewelers who featured diamonds in their front window and I looked at them sadly. I knew they were top quality because I could see right through them. They sparkled back at me with their many facets and prisms.

"Like what you see?" A salesman leaned out of the door.

"I don't know." I said pensively.

"Well we have more inside; we're having a huge sale!" He said enthusiastically.

The store appeared to be empty and I figured they must not get many customers.

"I have about 20 shekels on me." I admitted, smiling lightly at him.

"Humor me?" He pleaded desperately.

It wouldn't hurt to stall my arrival at Mossad now.

He introduced himself, and I told him my name. He then proceeded to lead me over to every single glass case and tell me everything he knew about the jewels and precious metals inside.

"Then we have the sterling silver, which is also on sale over here. I think that would be more within your price range." He showed me earings, art-deco rings, and shoddily made bracelets I knew would fall apart in a matter of months. I scanned the glass box, observing each piece on its throne of velvet when something caught my eye.

"What about this?" I pointed to a silver necklace through the pristine glass.

"Ah, the Star of David, one of our most popular, especially with the tourists. It would be very fitting for you, Miss David." He winked at me. "Would you like to try it on?"

"How much?"

"Well something like this would normally go for 50 or even 60, but for you…15." He shrugged. "You should try it on, at least."

I let him fasten the clasp on the back of my neck and he handed me a mirror. I only needed to glance at it before I paid for it and left the store, continuing on my walk of shame.

As I walked in the door of head quarters, I wasn't sure what to expect. Would I be reprimanded? Punished? Ignored? I went to the room where a group of various Mossad participants were gathered; that was where I was supposed to be.

Ziva jumped up when she saw me. "Where have you been, you were supposed to be here hours ago." She demanded through clenched teeth. "Do you have any idea what this could do to your career? You have to stop this, Tali it isn't responsible-"

"I don't need this from you, Ziva. Not today." I said rather loudly, attracting a few stares.

"Father wants to see you. He came down and told anyone who would listen to send you to him as soon as you got here." She informed me breathlessly. "I don't know what it's about, but you'd better get to his office. I would not keep him waiting much more than you already have."

"Will you come with me?" I asked, trying to swallow my concerns. She looked behind her apprehensively. "He didn't say you couldn't, did he?"

She exhaled and took my hand. "I will try." We took off down the corridor, keeping a brisk pace.

"What do you think will happen?" I asked as I was trying to remember to breathe. I couldn't recall the last time he had called me to his office at Mossad and for what reason. She gripped my hand encouragingly as we arrived at his office, and I knocked.

"Enter." The man behind the curtain called to me.

"Wait for me?" I whispered to Ziva, trying to communicate how I was feeling with my eyes. She nodded and stepped out of sight.

I opened the door.

I was surprised to see that he was not alone. Amit Hadar, the current head of Kidon, sat on a chair near my father's desk. He sat there rather rigidly with his strong hands gripping the arm rests. He met my gaze as I stepped tentatively into the room and gave me an understanding nod.

"Good morning Tali, I have some news for you." My father began casually, stirring a cup of tea and handing it to me. It was jasmine and lime; it was his subtle way of saying that he had received intelligence that confirmed I had not been doing well lately. Oh god, please god, tell me this isn't an intervention. I remember thinking, the cup of tea felt like a smoldering boulder in my hands.

"You have excelled Tali," My father observed from the file in front of him. "You have beaten 7 polygraphs and you are a natural in the weapons proficiency area of your training. You speak five languages, and can easily diffuse a bomb…" I stood there uneasily as I looked around. "Taliah, I have called you here today because after careful consideration, we have decided to send you on your first official mission."

I dropped the teacup and my world shattered along with it.

I had never thought about this day, although I had always known it was coming. I could hear nothing but the beat of my heart.

My father was looking at me expectantly, waiting for my response. I looked back at him blankly.

"Am I supposed to be… happy? To hear this?" I asked with a shaking voice. Every muscle in my body tensed. "I could never do this for you, or for anyone. I am not an officer. I don't I have to follow your orders just because you are my father." He had not expected this reaction and neither had I.

"What has happened to you, Taliah?" My father began, trying not to seem as shocked as he truly was. "Please hear me out before you do something you will regret." He said calmly, clearly trying to diffuse the situation.

"No." I spat venomously, taking a few steps backward. "I have heard enough. I have listened, I have done everything you asked, but I refuse- I cannot do _this_ for you. Look at what have you done with my brother, god damn it! And look at Ziva, she is void of compassion! I have witnessed too much death and suffering, just look at my arms!" I shouted, throwing them out for him to see the harsh red scars that trailed up and down the skin on my inner forearm. It looked like an elaborate suicide attempt that had failed miserably, but everyone knew it had not been my doing. Amit flinched. My father looked downward just slightly before he could meet my eyes again.

"I have had enough of blindly following orders! I want nothing to do with this, so you can go back to hiding in your secrets and your orders and whatever the hell it is that makes you feel like what you are doing is right." I yelled, reaching for the door knob. "But _I am not a pawn_!" I declared, throwing the door open and storming out.

Eli sighed and sat down on his cushioned leather chair. "I will give her time to think it over." He decided. "Tali is much more… rebellious than her sister was. She will come to her senses. You should probably talk to her at one point, Amit. I assume she is going to run." At that moment his phone rang and he did not hesitate to pick it up immediately.

Amit pursed his lips and looked conflicted for a moment before he jumped out of his seat and left the room.

"What happened?" Ziva asked, she hadn't been able to hear through the sound proof doors.

"He tried to give me a mission, I declined." I said tersely. I had already traveled halfway down the hall. The walls of the corridor seemed to be closing in on me faster than ever.

Ziva was horrified. She didn't understand why I had resorted to this. Mossad _was_ all we had. After all, you are what you say, you are what you know, and you are what you do.

"What are you trying to do?" She yelled and set off after me. "Why couldn't you just accept the assignment?"

"I don't belong here Ziva, I never have." I told her with tears beginning to well up in my eyes. "Ever since you were little this is what you have wanted to do- you always played with G.I. Joes and watched Ari at the shooting range- but I wanted to be a ballerina, I played with Barbies, I bake muffins when I'm sad for god's sake!" We briskly descended down the steps. Amit caught up on the first floor.

"Tali, you have to go back there. Assure your father of your loyalty!" He demanded while keeping up with my pace.

"Every word I said to him was true! I will do no such thing!" People turned to watch as we went by.

"You must convince him that you have changed your mind, then nothing bad will come of this- I can take care of the rest!" He attempted to be the voice of reason.

"Not a chance!" I told him, visibly outraged.

"I can have you transferred to Technology or Collections, you can gather intel overseas. You don't need to be part of Kidon, just please don't cause an irreparable crisis!"

"Then I will just leave!" I said firmly, my voice echoed off the high ceiling in the lobby.

Amit came to a halt. "Think about what you are doing, Tali." Hadar said warned me.

"Please don't do this." Ziva said quietly.

"I am sorry, Ziva, but I am not you." I declared bluntly, causing her to stop short. "I'll talk to you later." I muttered, turning away from her.

I took off towards the doors, looking back only once. Ziva seemed perturbed and stood there in deep thought; Amit paced and shook his head.

I gazed at the world before me. I would not be useful to my father anymore. But now I was lost, I had no where to turn. I didn't want to think about that though, so I walked aimlessly down the street.

In his office, my father tried not to look out his window, but he did. He watched me shrink farther into the distance, my face contorted with rage and betrayal. And although he may not have wanted it to be, that became his last memory of me.

It was about lunch time when I reached the open air market; vendors had set up their carts in the courtyard in between the stores. I am not certain why I ended up there. It was where my feet had led me and where I was content to stay for the time being.

It was crowded; there were plenty of people picking up something to eat on their lunch break. Teenagers out of school for the summer crowded the square, this way I could easily blend in and disappear in case I was being followed. But I felt like I should have been among them, having a good time and enjoying a vacation instead of being assigned to deadly missions.

I bought myself some falafel and paced the stone courtyard a few times. I casually fed what I didn't eat to the birds and watched all the people who were all leading seemingly normal lives. Among those I observed there was a mother who was overwhelmed with her 4 small children, three boys close to my age were fooling around and enjoying themselves, an old man eating his meal on a bench, and a business man who was chewing on the end of a cigarette while reading a newspaper. I sighed and turned away to find a trashcan.

When you have only minutes left to live, life moves in slow motion. Every detail is prominent, no movement goes unnoticed. Suddenly every minor aspect of what you are viewing seems relevant. I first saw death out of the corner of my eye, sauntering into the square trying his best to act normal. He is faceless to me now, but I distinctly remember how he moved, like he had a purpose. It was the wires that hung out from his sweatshirt that gave him away. He went unnoticed by most, and I knew this. I was the only one who knew death was among us, holding a small black switch that would decide our fate.

I closed my eyes and allowed sorrow and dread to flood my body for only a moment before I took a deep, slow breath and turned my head to watch him stride to the center of the square, ten feet away from me.

The boys that I thought were my age were even closer, standing to his right. They were laughing, unsuspecting- guiltless.

I ran, whether it was to avert the attack or save them, I will never know for sure. Either way, it was too late.

Death isn't like a personality quiz. A bomb is about to detonate. You: A.) run away B.) run toward it and see if you can diffuse it or C.) run toward it and save the people in the immediate line of fire. You don't stop to contemplate, the only way you can decide the answer is when you are in the exact same situation.

Just as I had decided to answer the question, I was met with the full force of the explosion. My arms came up to cover my face as I was blasted off my feet and thrown directly into a nearby cart. I was blown back a few feet and rolled to lie on my backside. Debris flew everywhere, glass pierced my skin, smoke and the familiar scent of burning flesh filled my lungs. I stared up at the clear blue sky and could see nothing else.

There is a moment of silence after an explosion, before the dust has settled and everyone's hearing is restored. Then panic sets in, and chaos reigns. I had always been resilient, and I remained awake long enough to experience this silence and the pandemonium that followed.

There was nothing recognizable in my realm of vision, just shadows passing by me and the glimmer of fire. Sheets of newspaper flew overhead; there was the faint echo of a child crying, people screaming, and the reverberation of feet against the hard ground.

But I wasn't worried, I felt no pain, and that is how I knew that this was the end, that I was dead.

I had been living in a windowless room, and now I could look up and see the beautiful blue sky again.

And as I stared up at the blank blue sky, I remembered all of this- every detail and every word of my short, bittersweet life. But it didn't exactly stop where I thought it would. There were short flashes of things that I had never actually seen- a brief premonition of what was to follow.

An air strike in Gaza on a building that I recognized.

A woman with the full skyline of a thriving metropolis behind her took a bullet to the head.

Ari lay in a pool of blood, while Ziva cried beside him.

My brother took my sister's hand as he left my grave behind.

A man with kind blue eyes replaced it as he left Ari behind, and she dropped a smoking gun.

Tears began to leak from my eyes just as the sirens came within hearing distance. One of the shadows in my peripheral vision knelt beside me and put two fingers to my wrist. It did not matter to me that help was coming; it did not make a difference. I closed my eyes.

I had seen enough.


	24. Ab Aeterno

**Here we are sending Ari and Ziva off on their proper paths; it would have been much too depressing to end it on that last chapter, so I'm ending it on a slightly less depressing note, although it may not seem like it until you reach the very end. (sorry) **

**The name of this chapter, "Ab Aeterno" can be translated several different ways, but here it means "****Until The End Of Time****"**

My brother built coffins. He did not build his life up because it had already been made for him, so he built coffins instead. He built mine, he built his own, and he even built Ziva's. When he died, that is all he left her- an empty coffin. But she chose not to get in it. She took it apart and built a home for herself among people she quickly grew to love and consider her own family. She was able to denounce our father and Mossad, which was all Ari really ever wanted to do.

Ari was my rock, he was my brother. I knew every side of him and I loved what I saw. I could never pass judgment.

But Ari's mission ended two weeks too late.

Two weeks after I had died, two weeks after my funeral, two weeks after Ziva's vengeful killing spree.

She was still at Mossad when the news reached her. They had heard the initial explosion and a few officers had gone to investigate. It was all a blur to her. The officers returned with solemn faces and she barely heard everything they said.

A suicide bomber had blown himself up near a coffee shop, 70 people were injured, and one person was dead. It was Tali… Tali David. Yes we're sure. Because, well… her face was the only part of her that was recognizable.

With that, she silently sunk to the floor and refused to move. That's when she began to forget things. She refused to cry, but she was paralyzed with grief and anger. She was there for hours and she refused to move. Michael came and gripped her shoulder reassuringly but she didn't notice. Amit told her sincerely how sorry he was but she didn't hear him. Eli informed her that when they went to pick my body up at the morgue, the ME had given him a Magen David necklace found close to me. "Does it mean anything to you?" He inquired.

"No." She said reluctantly. It does now, she thought.

Finally Michael came back and told her she had to leave. He offered to drive her home but when they got there she didn't want to get out of the car. She would have to pass my garden, the kitchen with the remains of a belated birthday cake I had made for myself, and my thoughtfully decorated room that had once been hers.

After 10 minutes of sitting in the car, she realized she couldn't do it. She had done and seen unspeakable things, but one thing she couldn't deal with at the moment was the memory of her dearly departed sister. She decided it would be a good idea to get her own apartment at that point. She pressed her lips into a straight line and gazed blankly out the window towards the unlit doorstep to our childhood home.

"When she was exhausted and had to deal with difficult situations she would get this look on her face… something deeper than sadness or exhaustion. It was like everything bad that happened to her would crash into her at one time… that's how you look now." Michael remarked, breaking the silence.

Ziva knew the expression he was referring to, it had always scared her when she saw me looking that hopeless but she wasn't about to admit it. "I think you are mistaken. I could never compare myself to her; we were hardly alike at all." She said flatly. "She was the best out of all of us." She clutched my necklace in her hand, allowing the little points of the star to dig into her skin.

Michael understood why she wasn't moving, he didn't want to venture back into that house anytime soon either. He drove her to his house where she elected to spend the night on the bathroom floor.

The tile kept her cool, the hard floor kept her awake. She shook with fatigue and contained sobs, tremors wracked her entire body as she sat in the corner of the dark room. When she closed her eyes all she saw was my perfectly preserved, beautiful face as she remembered it, accompanied by an unrecognizable and charred body. My face was colorless; my once peaceful eyes were closed. Then I opened them and smirked at her. She would jolt awake and hit her head against something hard, her heartbeat would race and stay at the same pace for hours. But she wasn't about to let the nightmares get the best of her; she wasn't ready to face my ghost.

Michael continued to watch every painful news report, trying to put together what had happened by himself with the limited evidence the media currently had. They did have my name though. They repeated it over and over and flashed the small thumbnail picture that had been released to the press constantly. When he couldn't take it any longer he opted to check on Ziva.

When she jumped up, aimed her gun at him, and then she sank back onto the floor where she continued to shake; he realized that she was in complete shock. He forced her to drink black coffee in an attempt to jolt her back into reality, it only slightly worked. "It gets easier." He told her quietly. She nodded once, but barely acknowledged him otherwise.

At four thirty that morning, Eli called her cell and she picked up. He informed her that my funeral would be held that afternoon.

"Of course father, I will meet you at headquarters in an hour." She replied, and with that she got up, splashed frigid water on her face and walked out the front door. I wish with all my heart she had refrained from what she did next. She had decided that she could not lay me to rest yet, and she wouldn't.

"I would like to request permission to construct a task force to find and destroy all of the participants in Tali's murder." She announced to my father with unfaltering certainty. "And I would appreciate it if you would tell me everything you already know about the situation."

He leaned back in his chair and covered his slight grin with one hand, giving the appearance of being deep in thought. He was proud of her; she was everything he ever hoped his daughter could be. "Very well Ziva, do as you see fit."

He had won.

She didn't go to the funeral that day; she figured there would be plenty of time to visit my grave site after she had gotten her vengeance.

An American man he had once worked with in Amsterdam was offering his condolences and mentioned to my father that I had died as a result of a war I had no intention of ever being apart of. My father was in the midst of lamenting what a shame it was that lives had to be sacrificed for peace when he suddenly paused, and in that moment, he wondered.

All the memories of sweet innocent Tali that he had previously brushed aside came rushing back then. He realized that every time he saw me I had looked hurt or troubled, but he had never paused long enough to contemplate what it meant. He had made it his job to recognize other people's emotions, how could he have been so ignorant of his own daughter's? Over time he began to regret losing me, but not destroying me.

Ari found out two weeks later when he was picked up at a safe point by his handler. He told Ari quietly about the nice service and how the officers that were close to me had gotten a few days off to mourn. Ari simply said that he wished he had as well, and covered his lips with his hand while watching the city skyline roll by. He thought about it over and over again. He wondered if he had been an instrument in my death. There was no way he could have known about this attack. If he had known, he would have told an informant who would have prevented it from happening. Had he helped plan that bombing? Had he met those responsible? It was very likely.

The dirt on my grave was still fresh when he came to visit. He drove around the graveyard three times before he stopped and made his way to my resting place, fully armed and disguised. We both knew if anyone wanted to attack him, ambush him, or find him, the most obvious place would be here.

"Oh, Tali." He sighed, dropping several white roses on the bare slab of marble that covered the entire grave. He knew I deserved so much more. He absent mindedly began humming El Malei Rachamim, a Hebrew prayer.

Ziva stood a row away, observing this. She was surprised he even knew the tune. Just that morning she had slain the last member of the cell that the bomber had belonged to. She scuffed the bottom of her shoe on a stone, making herself known to him. He instantly drew an automatic shotgun with a pistol handle that had been concealed in his gray trench coat.

"Damn it Ziva, don't do that again." He said, clearly not amused.

"Since when have you been surprised by anything?" She strutted forward, putting her hands in the pockets of her cargo pants. "You shouldn't be here, it isn't safe." She added quietly.

"Well that's why I brought a really big gun." He told her dryly.

"Really, just one?" Ziva raised her eyebrows.

"Alright, three." He rolled his eyes and both of them drew their attention back to the stone. They each read the simple inscription. "Taliah Dinah David, March 16, 1984-June 20, 2000"

"Did she die alone?" Ari inquired.

"Yes, she did." Ziva replied calmly. After two weeks of sleepless nights and assassinations, she had accepted my death to some extent.

He sighed and covered his lips with his fingers once more. Ziva knew this was as close to crying as he would ever come.

"She took the full force of the explosion… apparently she lived for the first few minutes, but in the end there was nothing they could have done."

They stood there in silence for a few moments, side by side, gazing down at the name engraved there. Ari inattentively began humming the prayer again. It was the same prayer Ziva would drop to her knees and sing as the crimson liquid pooled onto the concrete floor after she had killed him in cold blood. Eli made his orders clear, but how could that special agent have known what he was asking her to do? In an abstract way, Ari had ruined Ziva's life by forcing her to kill him. She had no choice but to pack, leave, and go elsewhere. In the end, that would be what was best for her.

Ari gently took Ziva's hand as he left my grave behind.

Ziva would eventually leave as he had, but I remained. I lingered in my garden, and the scent of baking pies never really left the kitchen. I followed the people I cared about for the rest of their lives. With every memory, with every utterance of my name, I am brought to life again. For those who have loved and who have been loved are never truly gone.

**Thank you to the thousands of people who have popped in to see this, as well as my viewers and subscribers. ****It would be great to hear from the people who I **_**know**_** are reading at this point maybe you could tell me why you liked it, or why you quit following it **

**I'm not one for thank you speeches, but I feel like there are people I **_**need**_** to mention**.

**-This story is first and foremost dedicated to ****Neda Agha-Soltan****. (If you don't know who she is, you should. Go look her up on Wikipedia or even youtube- if you know what you're getting into.) To me, she not only represents the struggle in Iran but the suffering the entire middle-eastern region has experienced from political and religious disagreements. **

**-****Florence+The Machine****, who not only provided the powerful, soulful soundtrack to this story but also served as a muse. The beginning paragraph of this chapter is directly inspired by the song **_**"My Boy Builds Coffins"**_** You should take a listen; all of her songs are hauntingly beautiful. **

**And a few other songs not by her that contributed to my writing soundtrack, Hometown Glory- Adele/Dream- Priscilla Ahn/ Wolf Like Me- TV on the Radio/ Skinny Love- Bon Iver/ **

**Listen and enjoy ;) **

**-****Marjane Satrapi****, whose brilliant life story and film **_**Persepolis**_** was one of my many inspirations.**

**-****The Red Tent****, a novel that most likely gave me the incentive to write this. Tali's middle name "Dinah" is for the main character in the story. **

**- The chapter titles are episodes of ****Lost****. I wrote the titles on my bedroom wall in homage, looked up one day and said "Those would be great chapter titles!" I didn't think I would actually do it but it worked out. **


End file.
